show me a quiver, give me tonight

Bar none, the best view in the city was from Lan Zhan’s balcony and Wei Ying wasn’t above abusing the fact that he was friends with Lan Zhan to get at it. And Wei Ying just so happened to have a key for his door, the key that Lan Zhan had given to him after the tenth time Wei Ying had begged and pleaded to be let in after the one time Lan Zhan had been forced to host his brother’s salon in his stead and thus allowed the unwashed masses, such as Wei Ying, into his beautiful, gorgeous, perfect, wonderful apartment.

He’d said, once he finally capitulated, “Just don’t get paint on the hardwood,” as he handed said key over, like that was a normal thing people did, give in to such entitled demands for access to their home. “Come over whenever you like except for Wednesdays.”

“Ooooh, Wednesdays. Is that date night, Lan Zhan? Do you get all dolled up and cast out nets for whatever you can bring back in for the evening?”

Lan Zhan had blinked and replied, deadpan, “Yes. Exactly so,” to Wei Ying’s endless delight.

He still sometimes chuckled about that. A few times, he’d been tempted to push it and actually come by on a Wednesday, just to see what Lan Zhan was really up to, but though he could be a dick, he wasn’t that sort of dick. Lan Zhan was doing him a courtesy by letting him come and so he was always on his best behavior—at least when he came when Lan Zhan wasn’t around.

Of course he had to misbehave when Lan Zhan was there.

“Lan Zhan?” he said, quiet as he opened the door. When he glanced in the corner, the bunny hutch was closed and Turpentine was curled up inside, foot twitching as she dreamed of whatever it was rabbits dreamed about. It was the surest sign Wei Ying could find that Lan Zhan was not home. Creeping over to the hutch, he crouched and stroked one finger lightly over Turpentine’s soft, warm ears through the slats. The short, whitish fur shaded toward gold near her head. “Tiny, has he been feeding you enough?”

Of course, Turpentine looked perfectly happy and perfectly well fed, but he pulled a small bag of dried pineapple cubes from his pocket anyway and placed one inside for when she woke up. He also opened the hutch’s door so she could get out when she was ready.

Pushing himself to his feet, he made his way to the sliding glass door and unlatched it. He left it open so he could hear it if Lan Zhan came back, but he made sure to put up the baby gate Lan Zhan kept to ensure Turpentine wouldn’t somehow find a way onto the balcony unsupervised even though Lan Zhan had rabbit-proofed the railings so that she could safely enjoy fresh air.

Over half of the balcony did seem to be devoted to Turpentine’s comfort. There was a large, green and very, very soft patch of grass housed in a blond wood container that was long enough and wide enough for Wei Ying to sprawl and splay his way across if he wanted to—and he did want to, carefully avoiding the row of dirt and veggies that Lan Zhan had planted just so Turpentine had something to eat and dig around in. It was a beautiful day, the sky clear and bright blue, a pleasant breeze doing just enough to undercut the warmth of the sun to keep it comfortable.

Usually, the clothesline was retracted by the time Wei Ying showed up, but today, there were a few sheets and pillowcases hung on the line, nothing too troublesome, just... interesting to look at and maybe touch once before he sat. It didn’t surprise him at all to find out that Lan Zhan’s sheets were blindingly white and a bajillion thread count.

He tossed his sketchbook down next to him and sighed, shoving one earbud into his ear as he wriggled around to retrieve his bastardized little painting kit from his pocket. It was little more than a battered old tin inside of which he kept a chewed up little pencil, some ink and a brush, a little rectangle of plastic, and tiny tubes of the only four colors of gouache he gave a single damn about, but it traveled easily and pissed off a few of the snootier artists who tried to work in Wei Ying’s territory and that was about all he could ever hope for out of a dumb little box.

After lounging around for a few minutes, he rolled to the edge of the grass, got back to his feet, and scooped up his sketchbook and pencil.

Wei Ying didn’t know how it was possible that Lan Zhan had found the only condominium in the city that offered such an unobstructed view of trees and foothills and the distant mountain range, but it was like Lan Zhan didn’t even live in the city at all. He talked sometimes about finding a place closer to the heart of the arts district, but Wei Ying always managed to stop him from committing to it, telling him that he’d hate the noise, the late hours, the pretentiousness.

It was only partially the selfishness of Wei Ying wanting him to keep this place that motivated him, because he did know that Lan Zhan would be unhappy there and only harbored the notion of moving closer because it was expected of him.

What famous art dealer didn’t want to be right in the heart of the action at every hour of the day?

The answer, of course, was Lan Zhan, who did just fine without letting himself get mired in the worst of what the artists in the arts district got up to: namely drama, drugs, depression, and, very rarely, acts of utterly unbelievable genius. Lan Zhan had a sixth sense for the last of those, thank fuck, and managed neatly to avoid the former.

Well, exempting Wei Ying, who could on very rare occasions be dramatic.

Lan Zhan, who was slightly more generous in his estimations of artists than Wei Ying, perhaps because he was more used to selling them than Wei Ying was, would have extended the rest of them more benefit of the doubt than Wei Ying did. But he didn’t have to live with them, so what did he know, really?

Ergo, Wei Ying was right and Lan Zhan should stay as far away from the arts district as possible except when he was tracking Wei Ying down to tell him that he wanted to place his latest piece for sale in his brother’s gallery. Only then would Wei Ying make an exception and even then it was limited to daylight hours.

He’d only just finished his preliminary sketch of the landscape when he heard the front door open. “Lan Zhan, your favorite artist is out here!”

“Is this the part where I tell you you’re my only artist?”

Wei Ying turned, gasping, and held his hand to his chest as Lan Zhan approached, stopping only long enough to crouch down and pet Turpentine on the way. She was so lazy, still in her open hutch even now. “Lan Zhan, that’s both a lie and a dunk and still somehow the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me all at once. I’m so proud.”

“I didn’t realize I’d genuinely made that assertion.”

“Okay, it was close to a lie and a dunk and I’m still proud of you for it.”

Lan Zhan sniffed, as though he didn’t consider amusement to be worth his time, but Wei Ying saw the smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth! It was there! And Wei Ying quickly sketched the shape of it while Lan Zhan was distracted by Turpentine. Sure, he had to scribble quickly across the rather nice tree he’d drawn, but that was okay. Once he got it, he began to erase the evidence of the tree, leaving behind only Lan Zhan and the rambling, jagged outlines of the mountains.

He was already mixing a bit of gouache on the piece of plastic when Lan Zhan saw fit to put aside the baby gate. Turpentine was cradled in his arm and then deposited on the grass, hopping away to nose at the purple and yellow pansies Wei Ying had helped plant, insisting there needed to be some color in Turpentine’s little garden, Lan Zhan, it couldn’t all just be green.

The scent of sandalwood tickled at Wei Ying’s senses as Lan Zhan stepped up behind him and looked over his shoulder to the drawing of himself. Huffing, he shook his head, only giving Wei Ying even more of an opportunity to smell that clean, woody fragrance. “You’re wasting your time.”

“Ah, Lan Zhan. It’s not fair for you to say that! How I handle my time is how I handle my time. Don’t you worry about me.”

Lan Zhan’s perfectly sculpted eyebrow climbed his perfectly sculpted forehead. “You have an exhibition showing in three weeks. Am I suddenly the subject of it?”

Wei Ying’s heart threatened to burst free from the confines of his chest and float right up to heaven. “Would you be willing?”

Of course, Lan Zhan leveled a glare so heavy that it brought Wei Ying’s heart right back down to earth, locking it back into place behind the jail cell bars of his rib cage. “No.”

“Eh, Lan Zhan. You can’t raise my hopes like that. You’d be so pretty to paint. I wouldn’t even have to fib to make you look good.”

“You don’t ‘fib’ anyway.”

Wei Ying rolled his eyes. If he’d heard it once, he’d heard it a million times. Blah blah blah. Wei Ying is a genius at portraiture, seeing into the spirit of people and finding their beauty with an ease and grace others found enviable blah blah blah. Portraiture was boring and he only ever did it because it paid the bills and for whatever reason there were people out there in the world who liked it. It wasn’t his fault other artists sucked at capturing the essence of their subjects. Wasn’t that what good art did? If it wasn’t, he was going to be really mad about those theory and criticism classes he took.

If it was good enough for Gu Kaizhi, it was good enough for him, that was all. At least as far as painting portraits went. He was definitely going to do whatever the fuck he wanted on his own time and dime.

The point was: everyone looked good if they managed to get a commission from Wei Ying. And when they did, they somehow always wanted a fucking portrait. But that was boring. Only Lan Zhan was worth painting.

“But Lan Zhan, your classic beauty would be such a good challenge for me. Imagine it: your face under my brush? Who could do you justice? Ah, it would be a divine chance.”

“Foolish.” He plucked Wei Ying’s sketchbook from his hands and peered down at the page as though it held the secrets of the universe within. “Are you prepared?”

A man and his sketchbook was a sacred thing, but as Lan Zhan began to flip through the pages, Wei Ying found he didn’t truly mind Lan Zhan seeing it, not even the naked figure studies a few pages back. His gaze lingered for a time on those, making Wei Ying wonder what it was he saw or felt about them.

Then he flicked even further back to the thumbnails Wei Ying had been noodling with for the last few weeks.

“These are good. Strong composition. Harmonious colors.” He glanced Wei Ying’s way. Wryness tugged at the corner of his mouth. “What don’t you like?”

Everything? Nothing? “Just not feeling it.”

He liked to pretend he wasn’t a dilettante just playing around waiting for inspiration to strike. Work got done or it didn’t. His brush wasn’t shackled by the whims of his thoughts or emotions. But this time, he was feeling a little untethered, unfocused. That wasn’t so unusual except that he usually got over it by now.

Hence coming here. Hence painting something real, not just the bullshit that everyone pretended was so profound. Lan Zhan wasn’t wrong. He did have an exhibit coming up and he wasn’t quite ready for it.

“Mn,” Lan Zhan replied, sympathetic without being an indulgent nightmare about it. There were some people out there—tasteless people—who did not like that Lan Zhan didn’t pat them on the head or give them a treat whenever they placed brush to canvas, but Wei Ying was not one of them. The faint praise Lan Zhan offered only revved his competitive spirit. Sure, the words themselves were nice: good, strong, harmonious. But Lan Zhan didn’t feel these things. One day, Wei Ying hoped to do that, make him feel something about the work he did. Not only did he want it to be good and strong and harmonious, he wanted it to matter to Lan Zhan specifically. He wanted it to be essential to Lan Zhan. He wanted good to tug at the muscles of Lan Zhan’s heart, strong to pluck at his connective tissues. He wanted the harmony to resonate in Lan Zhan’s marrow.

Perhaps one day. And in the meantime, the struggle made him a better artist.

For that alone, he couldn’t be more grateful to anyone in his life.

“I will make some tea,” Lan Zhan said, handing the sketchbook back. “Why don’t you paint Turpentine instead?”

Wei Ying snorted. This thumb rasped lightly over Lan Zhan’s likeness on the page, slightly rough under his fingers because he liked to know he was using paper, that it once came from a tree that once was part of a forest. He liked the texture and imperfection of it. Though he would have preferred to paint Lan Zhan, he settled on the ground, legs crossed. He called out, aware that Lan Zhan could hear him from his kitchen, “Do you know how many people at Burial Mounds would laugh if they knew I drew pet portraits now?”

Lan Zhan didn’t answer until he returned with two mugs. He’d watched Turpentine move often enough that he decided to draw her chasing her tail, barely needing to look at her for reference these days. The sketch was already done by the time Lan Zhan returned and he was already laying in the color of her fur.

“Perhaps it could be our secret, then,” Lan Zhan offered, magnanimous, as he handed over Wei Ying’s mug. There was a soft, quiet expression on Lan Zhan’s face when he peered down over Wei Ying’s shoulder to look at it. “It’s cute. Would you like a chair?”

Wei Ying shook his head and went back to painting as Lan Zhan grabbed a low, padded stool for himself from the other corner and sat next to Wei Ying. If he’d known he was going to be doing Lan Zhan’s bidding this way, he’d have brought proper materials, but he supposed for now he would have to make do with this instead.

When he was done, he tore out the page and handed it to Lan Zhan as casual as could be which was to say he felt a little nervous about it and shy. A stupid feeling as it turned out, because Lan Zhan merely exuded surprised pleasure in the form of a twitching, smothered smile before saying, “You didn’t sign it.”

“Aiya, who’s going to care? It’s not like you’re going to try selling it, right?”

“Historicity is important.”

Wei Ying rolled his eyes. “Now you’re just being recalcitrantly Western about it, always wanting personal credit for everything. If rolling anonymous worked for all those ancient painters, it works just fine for me.”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan said.

Wei Ying could deny Lan Zhan nothing, so he sighed and draped himself across Lan Zhan’s lap to scribble on the page, using Lan Zhan’s leg: To Lan Zhan, with love. Wei Ying. 20/08/18.

“There. Now it’s perfect and I look like a raging egomaniac.”

Lan Zhan nodded decisively and kept hold of the page carefully as he drank his tea and watched Turpentine hop around, so happy and carefree, not unlike Wei Ying, except for the way he was maybe a little disappointed to not get any reaction out of Lan Zhan with the message he’d written.

It was a stupid desire; it wasn’t like Lan Zhan ever reacted to his… not-quite-advances, barely-could-be-called-feelers. But still. Anything would have been better than nothing.

Downing the rest of the tea, as perfect as Lan Zhan, he got to his feet, shamelessly using Lan Zhan’s shoulder for leverage. “I should probably head back. Thank you for the company and the use of your apartment.”

Lan Zhan looked up at him, gaze searching. “You don’t have to go.”

“No, it’s…” He rolled his shoulder. “You’re right. I do have work to do. I don’t think your brother would appreciate exhibiting Turpentine in triptych form.”

“He might.”

“Okay, well, his clientele won’t. I can tell you that much.”

“It would fit Wei Ying’s character to do something like that, though, would it not?”

It was bizarre the way he could hear the distinction in Lan Zhan’s voice when he said Wei Ying’s name that way, like he meant Wei Ying, the persona, rather than Wei Ying, the man.

And maybe he did. It was true that Wei Ying, the artist, was a fabrication of sorts, the truth of Wei Ying, if not the whole of it. The people who admired him and hated him admired and hated the person they thought they knew, not Wei Ying himself.

Wei Ying laughed and couldn’t quite stop himself from touching Lan Zhan’s shoulder again. “You just want me to paint Turpentine again. I see through you, Lan Zhan.” Still, the thought warmed him. Perhaps he would do so one of these days. “You could ask, you know. I don’t bite. Not unless you want me to.”

There again: barely an acknowledgment. Then again, it wasn’t an inspired effort, was it? “I know. You’re generous with your time.”

I could be more generous with it, Wei Ying thought, pathetic even to his own mind, if you wanted me to be. “Sure. That’s what I am,” he said instead. “See you later, Lan Zhan. Don’t be a stranger, huh?”

Lan Zhan tilted his head curiously and then nodded.

And then before Wei Ying could actually say anything dumb, he booked it for the door with as much dignity as he could muster.

It probably wasn’t enough, but it got him into the hallway where he could stop and take a breath, pulling himself back together as he reminded himself that crushes never hurt anyone and it would go away if only he could let it.

He just had to.

Let it, that was.

As he sat at his easel, feet hooked under the wooden bar stool he’d liberated from who knew where so many years ago that he was pretty sure the bar it came from no longer even existed, Wei Ying experienced the last moment of ignorant bliss he’d ever have in his life.

If Wei Ying had known to treasure it, he would have, but Wei Ying was a fool and life had a way of blindsiding you when you least expected it and now he was going to have to live with the fallout.

For example: Wei Ying was minding his own business, putting the finishing touches on the second of the three pieces he’d promised Lan Huan, when Mo Xuanyu and one of his friends from another collective barreled through the front door, laughing. He had so many friends from so many places that Wei Ying couldn’t keep track of them all and had long ago given up on learning any of their names. All he knew for sure, when he lifted his head, was he didn’t recognize the young man and didn’t intend to get to know him.

Mo Xuanyu wasn’t bad—Wei Ying actually liked him even if his taste in friends was questionable—but other artists tended to get on his nerves if they weren’t Burial Mounds born and bred and Mo Xuanyu was the worst at bringing them in from the cold. Nobody outside of this circle really stood a chance except Lan Zhan and Wei Ying’s family and sometimes even then he could be on shaky terms with the latter.

It was his fault for doing this in the common area instead of his dedicated section of the heavily converted warehouse that served as their home base. Either his bedroom or his studio, the latter protected by do-not-cross tape across the floor and drawn curtains that could be pulled strategically and the former by a, uh, door, so when Mo Xuanyu called out, “Hey, Wei-ge, meet Cider,” from the front entryway, he smiled and waved and hoped it didn’t look too much like a grimace.

The young man grinned and pushed the wild tangle of his hair from his eyes, striding forward with hand outstretched. “It’s Li Wenfang.”

Wei Ying took his hand and squeezed once, forgetting that there might still be wet paint on his own. “Sorry,” he said, wiping his palms against his already paint-splattered apron. “Let me guess, you drank a lot of cider once and now my obnoxious didi here won’t let it go.”

Li Wenfang laughed and it was a nice laugh, very pleasant and melodic, and Wei Ying thought that maybe this one wasn’t so bad. “Something like that.”

“Actually,” Mo Xuanyu said, “he hoped to catch our illustrious Hanguang-jun’s eye with a bottle of cider and now he’s a laughingstock.”

A stone settled low and heavy in his gut, pinning his stomach to the floor, which may well have been a mercy because it was also threatening to spill itself across the floor. Who would be so bold?

Li Wenfang’s grin widened and it was the most atrocious expression Wei Ying had ever seen in his life. It could have scared a ghost for how unattractive it was. Just terrible. In a singsong, he shot back, “He didn’t knock me on my ass like you said he would.”

“It was a metaphorical ass kicking we were expecting,” Mo Xuanyu said, making Wei Ying wonder where exactly Mo Xuanyu’s we might have run into Lan Zhan where alcohol could be used as bait. “Precious Lan-xiansheng wouldn’t stoop to physical violence.”

Squaring his shoulders, he pulled at his non-existent lapels because he was just wearing a stupidly tight white t-shirt, nothing worth being so smug about. “That didn’t happen either.”

“But he didn’t take the cider.”

Wei Ying tried to imagine a version of the universe where he’d do anything that shameless. Well, now anyway. Back in school on the other hand… “Y-you… actually offered Lan Zhan alcohol?”

Back in school, Lan Zhan had almost knocked him on his ass for doing the exact same thing. Politely, of course, and mostly accidentally when he attempted to push past Wei Ying and Wei Ying kind of, maybe, sort of almost tripped against Lan Zhan’s perfectly lovely chest; he didn’t do more than stumble, though, because Lan Zhan had amazing reflexes and wasn’t drunk at the party they’d both somehow ended up attending and had instead grabbed Wei Ying’s arm to steady him, pulling him back upright easily.

And then they’d stood there for a good five seconds, Lan Zhan’s hand wrapped around his elbow, staring at one another while Wei Ying did his best to fix the moment in his drink-addled brain.

It was awesome, a much treasured memory.

But he couldn’t imagine anybody else trying to give Lan Zhan a drink. No way. Especially not now that they were older and Lan Zhan had hardened into the perfect, gentlemanly specimen he now was, untouchable and as distant as the moon on a clear, bright night. Who tried to drag the moon back to the realm of mortals by giving him alcohol? Nobody! That was who. Killing the tortured metaphor before he could take it any further, he narrowed his eyes at Mo Xuanyu. “How many people have you told?”

“About Li Wenfang here crashing and burning? A lot. It’s not like he was the first.”

Ugh. Lan Zhan wouldn’t like that at all. Not only the fact that he was involved, but that Li Wenfang’s failure was getting paraded around. Lan Zhan was too humane to want others to face any sort of mockery just for taking a shot at something that was never going to be theirs in the first place.

This trait of Lan Zhan’s—his utter lack of interest in other people—was literally the only thing that stopped Wei Ying from doing something incredibly stupid and irrevocably damaging to their relationship.

That ugly, ugly, truly terrible smile, not at all incandescently beautiful on an objective level—Wei Ying was an artist, he had to understand these things even though they rarely affected him personally—reasserted itself. “Except, dearest Mo Xuanyu, I did not, in fact, fail.”

The world might have tipped sideways at Li Wenfang’s admission. Or perhaps it was just the bar stool as Wei Ying lost his balance and had to scramble to free one foot from the rungs to catch himself before he fell over. Wei Ying couldn’t possibly be hearing what he was hearing. And Li Wenfang couldn’t be relaying what he was relaying because it was private information—information Wei Ying neither needed nor wanted, god, he did not want it—and Lan Zhan didn’t deserve to have his privacy violated in this way and it couldn’t actually be correct anyway. Li Wenfang was lying for sport or cachet or to save his reputation.

“You’re kidding,” Mo Xuanyu said. “Stop fucking with me. That’s—” But apparently he knew his friend’s expressions well, because his mouth fell open and he stabbed Li Wenfang in the chest. Repeatedly. “Holy shit. Holy shit. How did it—when did you—?”

Li Wenfang glanced at Wei Ying and then glanced away again, utterly unconcerned about airing Lan Zhan’s business this way and Wei Ying was too shocked to stop him from blabbing. It was so very clear he wanted to. “Listen, I don’t know why he won’t touch anyone in this city or Burial Mounds with a ten-foot pole—probably professional ethics or something, I don’t know, he reps a lot of you, right?—or why everyone here thinks he’s so impossible, but I can guarantee you if you catch him at the right time, you might get lucky.”

“Oh, fuck you.” Mo Xuanyu laughed in disbelief. “Now I know you’re fucking with me. Who’s getting lucky with Hanguang-jun?”

“Ask any man visiting from out of town and they’ll tell you.”

A sinking sensation threatened to overtake Wei Ying, pure in its horribleness, dots connecting themselves in his brain to form an unfortunate whole.

“What day?” Wei Ying asked, sick to his stomach as soon as the question was out of his mouth.

Li Wenfang’s brows furrowed in confusion.

“What day?” Wei Ying asked again, an edge in his voice that would no doubt turn him into Mo Xuanyu’s next best source of gossip for the next, oh, glacial age.

“A Wednesday.” Then his mouth curled up and he eyed Wei Ying up, considering. “How did you know?”

He swore under his breath and yanked the apron from around his waist and neck, very nearly strangling himself in the process. “I don’t have time for this.” He was going to have to abandon this piece here until it dried, which was fine. He still had one more to go anyway. He could just as easily do that, oh, anywhere but here. The surface of the sun might be nice; maybe he could burn away his shame. “And shut your mouth about Lan Zhan, okay? Both of you.”

Li Wenfang chuckled lightly, the laugh turning into a cough at the end as Mo Xuanyu elbowed him. “Sure thing.”

Wei Ying got as far as the stairs before he heard them whispering again. He really didn’t mean to, but his legs were a little weak and he needed to catch his breath. If he sat at the foot of the stairs, it wasn’t because he wanted to hear more.

“You and he really…?” Mo Xuanyu asked.

“Oh, yeah.” Then there was another laugh. “If I had my way, I’d be inviting him out again. I might give it a shot anyway, risk you calling me something worse than Cider next time if I do get turned down.”

“What was it even like?” Mo Xuanyu asked this question like it was merely academic, a morbid itch to be even more morbidly scratched, not anything real. Lan Zhan might as well have stopped being a person to him and become a thought experiment instead. Sadly, it was very, very real to Wei Ying.

Wei Ying’s hands twitched toward his ears, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to do the right thing. Instead, he strained to hear even though it betrayed Lan Zhan’s confidences in the worst possible way. It was just so impossible to believe and it all sounded so fake.

Though Li Wenfang lowered his voice again, it didn’t matter. “What’s the best thing you could imagine happening to you? He figures it out and does it, but first, he buys you dinner and makes you breakfast in the morning and then you’re returned from whence you came just in time to realize you’ve been ruined for all other men.”

Ruined for all other men. Fuck.

How many more people were out there who felt like Li Wenfang? Who knew Lan Zhan in ways that Wei Ying apparently could not? Were they as good to Lan Zhan as he was to them? Did they deserve Lan Zhan? Wei Ying could only answer the last two questions with a certainty: no and hell fucking no.

Li Wenfang laughed again, the self-satisfied laugh of a man who had one over on everybody else, smug and superior and pitying that no one else was on his level. “I even heard he keeps a spreadsheet—”

Finally reaching his limit, Wei Ying jumped to his feet and climbed the stairs, each step loud and creaking, condemning Li Wenfang and his big fucking mouth and Mo Xuanyu and his giant, god-damned ears, but most of all condemning himself for being no better than either of them.

When Wei Ying woke up this morning, he hadn’t expected to learn that Lan Zhan had sex on the regular, Lan Zhan had sex with men on the regular, and Lan Zhan had sex with men on the regular and purportedly wrote about it in a spreadsheet. But learn those things he did, the knowledge seared into his memory with viciously quick speed, instantly becoming one of those things he’d never forget. The only thing he wanted and couldn’t have was to unlearn it.

Wei Ying came to with a start, palm inside his boxer briefs as he ground down into his mattress, cock hard and aching. His body was already so close that it was only some quick thinking that saved him from ending up laughed out of Burial Mounds entirely, his instincts leading him to burying his face in the crook of his elbow as he panted and moaned into his arm. Not a minute later, he spilled into his own hand. The dream he’d been having dissolved as pleasure wracked his body, but he wasn’t fucking stupid. He knew whose mouth he’d been thinking about, his fingers slipping between plush, pink, too familiar lips before opening himself up. That muscled body, he’d never seen it naked, not like Li Wenfang had, but he had a good imagination and had invaded Lan Zhan’s space often enough to have a good idea of what was underneath the dress shirts, sweaters, vests, and blazers he always wore. It wasn’t hard to picture.

And it wasn’t the first time something like this had happened, but it was the first time in a long, long while and Wei Ying wasn’t prepared. Within the span of one night, his mind and body had forgotten that Lan Zhan was an impossibility; before tonight, he’d learned over the course of years of this holding pattern of theirs that there was no point in trying to go there, mentally or in reality. And that was okay. He was perfectly satisfied with what he had.

Lan Zhan was Lan Zhan and Wei Ying was Wei Ying and they were what they were to each other and it was good, the best. Wei Ying didn’t need anything else.

Already that coping mechanism was failing. Already. Not even a day later.

“Try being more pathetic, Wei Ying,” he said to himself, wincing as he sat upright to survey the damage. From the slight burn of muscle and the chafing of his skin, he could only imagine he’d been humping his own bed for far longer than was truly necessary or appropriate. There was a sticky remnant of a stain across both his underwear and the sheets that suggested this last time wasn’t the first time he’d come. “Or maybe you should try getting laid yourself.”

As soon as he said it, he frowned. Who in the world was worth going through the trouble except Lan Zhan when his hand had been a perfectly serviceable companion for such a long time?

It would be different if there was another who could compare, but who could? No one. There wasn’t a single other person on the planet who’d caught and held Wei Ying’s eye ever except for Lan Zhan. When he was younger, he didn’t think anything of the fact that he would rather pull Lan Zhan’s metaphorical pigtails than go out with anybody, no matter how many smiles and flirtations he exchanges with a person. And even if he was vaguely intrigued by someone, he never felt anything physically for them, though often the reverse was true and that sometimes got awkward. As he got older though, he realized it was maybe something he should have gotten over, this infatuation, but by then it didn’t matter because no one else truly mattered.

And, in truth, he wouldn’t have had it any other way, though others might judge or pity him if they cared to look. What pieces of Lan Zhan that were his he cherished and that was enough. He’d been fulfilled before now and he would be again.

Sometimes, he imagined someone else stepping in to sweep him off his feet, pull him forcibly from this stalemate he’d walked himself into, but even then, the fantasy wasn’t terribly vivid or compelling. He couldn’t even picture their face or what they’d do to manage it and before long the image faded until what remained to him was his paintings and Lan Zhan and his family and it was fine that that he had those things. He was grateful to have them.

It had been enough.

It was still enough or it would be again once he gets his bearings.

But now there was this and as he washed the evidence from his hands in the bathroom, pulled clean clothes from his closet, and then returned to fill the claw-footed tub he refused to get rid of even though it was beginning to rust where the ceramic met brass and the ceramic itself was in bad shape and it was an epic battle of strength to even get the faucets to turn.

Climbing in while it was only half full, he stretched his legs over the edge and crossed his ankles and maybe slid down until he was entirely submerged except for his face and could hear his own heartbeat in his ears.

His thoughts circled around and around what Li Wenfang had said yesterday, how shocking it had been to Wei Ying. It wasn’t any of his business what Lan Zhan did, of course, but it hurt that he’d had no idea that Lan Zhan even did those things, took men on dates and brought them home.

It felt a little bit like Lan Zhan had kept it from him specifically, though that was improbable. Wei Ying wasn’t certain what they were to one another: friends on Wei Ying’s side, of course, and Lan Zhan tolerated his nonsense beautifully, but what did that really mean? Did that qualify Wei Ying to know these things about Lan Zhan? Probably not. Wei Ying had a habit of taking advantage of anything Lan Zhan chose to give him. Perhaps it made sense that he kept this quiet, squirreling it away so that Wei Ying couldn’t poke and prod at it and try to take it for himself.

Sluicing the water from his hair, he pushed himself upright to reach for his body wash and shampoo, scrubbing mechanically while his thoughts continued to drift, now to how Lan Zhan would have looked in bed with Li Wenfang, doing things with Li Wenfang that Wei Ying wouldn’t have been able to imagine for himself except when he was asleep. Even though he tried to stop himself, he couldn’t.

Each image his stupid brain conjured in technicolor perfection sliced through the spaces between his ribs, attacking his heart and lungs, leaving him unable to breathe easily or well.

What Lan Zhan did was his business. What he told or didn’t tell Wei Ying was also his business. Whatever bullshit reaction Wei Ying had to information he shouldn’t have been given to begin with shouldn’t be his problem on top of that.

His phone rang while he was drying off, thoughts a blur of fuck, how am I supposed to do this only belatedly allowing the sound of jiejie’s ringtone to penetrate his thick skull, and he rushed through the process of yanking on his shirt and underwear, picking up just in time.

“Jiejie,” he said, breathless, “hi.”

It was always lovely to hear jiejie’s voice and now was not an exception, even if she was too prescient for her own good. “A-Ying, did I call at a bad time?”

Damn. How could she always tell? “No, no! I was just getting ready.” He glanced down at his bare legs. Pinning his phone to his cheek with his shoulder, he reached to where he’d haphazardly thrown his jeans on the sink. “Your calls are always perfectly timed, jiejie. You know that.”

“You sound strange.”

“Don’t tell Jiang Cheng, but I’m monstrously out of shape.” He panted a few times in demonstration, such a poor excuse that he probably just made himself seem more suspicious. “Just terrible. I should definitely go for runs more often.”

Lan Zhan ran. He’d probably let—

But no. No. Lan Zhan didn’t need a running buddy. In fact, Wei Ying didn’t need to go for runs at all. He was perfectly healthy. This didn’t need to go any further than a little white lie to cover for the fact that he couldn’t tell jiejie what was really bothering him.

But hell, how much fun would it be to go on runs with Lan Zhan? Even runs, he thought, would be great as long as Lan Zhan was there.

He hated to run. It was just another thing he wanted to take from Lan Zhan and make his own.

“If you’re sure,” jiejie replied, doing him the courtesy of not sounding unduly suspicious. “Are you free for lunch today? I thought we might video chat together while we ate.”

Oh, god. Could he actually manage to have a meal with her without her figuring him out? He didn’t want to miss a chance to see her when she was so busy all the time, but… but he couldn’t spread gossip about Lan Zhan any further than it already went. Not even to jiejie even though she’d take it to her grave. Just knowing that she knew anything about Lan Zhan’s apparently rich and varied sex life that didn’t involve Wei Ying would be too much.

“I’m sorry,” he replied, and he was, for more than one reason. “I’ve got this triptych to finish and…”

She laughed lightly, the sound of it like spring come early after a cold, harsh winter. He couldn’t help but feel a little better at hearing it. “That’s alright, A-Ying. You don’t have to explain to me.” There was a pause during which Wei Ying wasn’t certain if he should speak and then: “You’re sure you’re all right?”

“I’m fine, jiejie. You know me.”

“I do,” she answered, indulgent. “Which is why I worry.”

He knew she didn’t do it on purpose and that he only felt guilty because that was who he was, but it still gutted him to be unable to assuage her further. All he could say was he was fine, though he wasn’t, and even that wasn’t enough. He would have to prove it to her, too, and in order to do that, he had to behave like a normal human who wasn’t being pulled under by the honestly not-so-shocking revelation that Lan Zhan was one of the many humans on the planet who enjoyed having sex.

That just required time.

“I treasure the trust you place in me, jiejie, truly.”

She laughed again and told him to have a good day and not to be a stranger. He thought with maybe a few more days to process it, he could be okay, and promised he’d find time this weekend to video chat.

Placing his phone on the sink, he gripped the edge and leaned in to inspect himself in the dingy, scratched mirror that he also refused to replace because it was cool and carried history and hadn’t cost him a cent when he first picked it up and Wei Ying was just too damned lazy to replace it when he could see his face just fine in its imperfect surface.

“Don’t fuck this up,” he told himself, by which he meant: yes, prove himself right to jiejie, but also to everyone else—Lan Zhan, and… and everyone else he saw between now and whenever the fuck he got over this problem who might figure him out.

That might be never, but he liked to believe his optimism would save him.

If he spent the rest of his day in his private studio, not leaving once in order to avoid the risk of running into Mo Xuanyu or—if he was still around—Li Wenfang, then that was just pragmatism and wasn’t at all a result of him being easily terrified by his own feelings, nope. Nah. Definitely not.

He could say this, however: he sure as hell got a lot of work done.

The only problem with getting his work done was that Lan Huan would want to see it and wherever Lan Huan went, it was better than even odds that Lan Zhan wouldn’t be far behind. Which was obviously why, not an hour after Wei Ying left a message with Hanshi’s receptionist, Lan Huan showed up with Lan Zhan walking behind him, a neat two steps behind. His posture was perfect, hands carefully placed against his spine, and his eyes, keen with interest, focused first on the paintings and then on Wei Ying.

He said nothing, which gave Wei Ying a moment to compose himself at least.

Lan Huan was eager, as always, and said, politely, as they climbed the stairs to the studio area, “I was pleased to get your message today, Wei Ying.”

“Bet you were surprised I wasn’t leaving you hanging until the last possible moment, huh?” He laughed as he said this and Lan Huan also laughed, sharing in the joke. Lan Huan was the sort of man who belonged in a gentler industry than this one and was, in Wei Ying’s opinion, sometimes far more indulgent and understanding of artistic temperaments than he ought to be, which occasionally included Wei Ying, who could get very good ideas very late in the game.

Or maybe he just spent so much time with the likes of Nie Huaisang and Meng Yao that everyone else seemed normal in comparison.

“You’ve always come through,” Lan Huan answered. “If I was surprised, it wasn’t because I harbored any particular concerns.”

Wei Ying tried very, very hard to look at Lan Zhan, but it was impossible without blushing, so he ducked his head and gestured awkwardly toward the back, past everyone else’s spaces into his own. “Let’s do this, then. Unless you’d prefer some shitty coffee or stale tea first? Only the finest for the Twin Jades, huh? Probably should have asked that while we were downstairs, but the offer is open.”

“We’re more eager to see your work than indulge in more caffeine, thank you.”

“Hey, there’s… maybe some herbal tea stashed somewhere.”

Lan Huan’s mouth twitched. “We’re fine. Unless…” He turned to look at Lan Zhan.

“I would like to see Wei Ying’s work,” Lan Zhan answered.

“O-okay, then,” Wei Ying said, covering his awkwardness with an even more awkward chuckle; he sounded like such a dweeb. “Hope I don’t disappoint.”

Lan Zhan’s gaze scorched the back of his neck, uncomfortable, like he’d been sitting in the sun for too long and now his skin was all hot and too tight.

Nobody came up here this early, at least, too busy sleeping off their respective late nights to bother working even though they were, in Wei Ying’s opinion, wasting all these nice windows this place had. Which was a good thing right now. A great thing. Because Wei Ying didn’t know just how much Mo Xuanyu might have said to the others yet and he really should have thought of that before telling Lan Huan to come and arrange pickup of his paintings and holy shit what if someone sees Lan Zhan and says something?

Fuck, Wei Ying was stupid. He was really, really stupid and there was nothing he could do to mitigate his stupidity without alerting them to something being wrong and—

Hopefully they could be quick about this. In and out, no one the wiser.

This whole faking normalcy until he made normalcy thing just was not working for him. At all.

“Are you all right?” Lan Huan asked.

“What?” Wei Ying realized only belatedly that they were standing in front of the area cordoned off as his and Wei Ying’s hand was wrapped around the curtain, not moving, the fabric taut in his fists. He just wasn’t pulling it aside and… “I’m fine! Ha, sorry. Just been a long day.”

“It’s only ten.”

“Oh, come on. You can’t tell me you’ve never had mornings that seemed to last five-hundred hours.”

Lan Huan conceded with a delicate tip of his head. “Point. Though I suspect a five-hundred hour long morning doesn’t explain your current predicament. You’ve been sleeping enough, haven’t you?”

“Ay, ay, ay, Lan Huan. Don’t go all mother hen on me now.” It was easy to be solicitous and charming in Lan Huan’s direction, because every word out of his mouth directed toward him was one less he could spew at Lan Zhan instead and who knew what he might say under the circumstances? What if he teased? What if he flirted? What if he asked Lan Zhan to fuck him right here and now? What if he told Lan Zhan he loved him a little bit? He couldn’t risk it. “Anyway.” With a dramatic inhalation, he yanked the curtain aside. “Here we are.”

Lan Huan approached the three panels first, each perched on an easel Wei Ying had pilfered from someone else, and hummed thoughtfully as he stood in front of them all in turn. Wei Ying did not wince. If it could be said of art that it conveyed a person’s spirit and state of mind, then Wei Ying was screwed. Metaphorically anyway, because apparently Lan Zhan only fucked every other guy in the world and not him and okay, that wasn’t a kind thought at all and not even true since this whole awful, no-good town was off-limits.

If he moved away, would that make a difference?

No, that was preposterous. He wasn’t going to move with the hope that he’d get laid. Absolutely not.

“Why did you place this one in the middle?” Lan Huan asked, of course going immediately for the jugular. It was the most riotous of the three, the most abstract, the one that gave the game away. It seemed right that it should be the centerpiece when the others were so similar to one another comparatively, but Lan Huan already saw what was wrong with it. “Is it not a progression?”

“It needed balance,” Wei Ying answered, hesitating as he took a few steps toward Lan Huan and the paintings.

“Did they?” These were the first words Lan Zhan said specifically to Wei Ying and they punched a hole in Wei Ying’s chest.

Did Lan Zhan always have such a deep, lovely voice? Was his gaze always so penetrating, seeing so deeply into Wei Ying that he feared exactly what it was he might dredge up from those depths? Except right now, he knew exactly what Lan Zhan would find and it did him no credit.

What did Lan Zhan ask? Did it what? Did what what? Oh, balance. Did his triptych need balance? Right. Uh… well, he hadn’t thought so at the time? Not until he looked at it and saw himself spilled across the three canvases and shuffled them to hide the worst of the damage.

Lan Zhan stepped close, so close, kissing distance, almost brushing Wei Ying’s arm as he…

As he stepped around him and approached the paintings, utterly disinterested in anything but the work, of course. He turned to look at Wei Ying. “May my brother and I switch the second and third panels?”

Do you have to, Wei Ying thought in despair. “Sure, yeah. Don’t mind the artist’s vision. Be my guest.”

But though Lan Zhan leveled him with a stern—fuck, why was that sexy, why did Wei Ying even care that it was sexy—and knowing glare, he didn’t make a move to rearrange them. This argument existed outside of speech and Wei Ying knew when he had lost, knew when Lan Zhan knew something was up, and knew even so that Lan Zhan wouldn’t touch them if Wei Ying didn’t give him actual permission.

This isn’t your vision, Lan Zhan didn’t have to say, and stop lying to us that it is.

“Ugh. Yeah, okay, fine. Snark retracted. As earnestly as I can manage to say it: be my guest. I trust you.” I trust you to rip my heart out and put it on display in Lan Huan’s stupid gallery. Who gave Lan Zhan permission to know him? How was that fair?

Pacing around as they got to work, Wei Ying stared at the ceiling, dreading the verdict. No, not dreading it: Lan Huan and Lan Zhan’s opinions were always fair and accurate, kindly given and helpful. He did not need to fear them. No, what he waited for was catastrophe, for Lan Zhan to somehow see through the turmoil on display to the source of the turmoil and then run far the fuck in the other direction because he never signed up for Wei Ying’s feelings on top of everything else he’s allowed Wei Ying to take from him.

“Mn,” Lan Zhan said and Wei Ying looked back just in time to see the pieces settling back into correct order from before he got chicken shit and moved them.

Where before, the pieces as a whole offered a sense of comfort—the idea that chaos could be constrained and come out the other side with no ill effects at all, only more sweet beauty—now it posited the idea that everything ended in chaos no matter how perfectly it started, that there was nothing in the end except for it. Chaos and turmoil, that was what Wei Ying felt and worse: it did seem to him that it would truly never end.

“It’s beautiful this way,” Lan Huan said. “Are you sure you want it the other way instead?”

Wei Ying sighed and shook his head. No point fighting the inevitable. It was better this way and he should never have tried to pull one over on them, because Lan Zhan would no doubt prod at him until he conceded as much and he needed as little interaction with Lan Zhan right now as he could manage. Even this was too much, though so much of Lan Zhan’s attention was focused on the paintings and not him specifically.

“I think Madam Lin would like to see these,” he was saying now, quiet, to Lan Huan, as though they weren’t doing him twenty different favors by putting very rich, very dumb eyeballs before his work. “She’s complained recently that everything she’s seen lately is too… polished.”

Wei Ying, still wearing a path in the floor behind them, snorted as he raised his eyes to the ceiling again, shy and embarrassed as they picked him apart. This part was always the most awkward out of everything, even worse than whenever he actually had to put in an appearance with these people Lan Zhan and Lan Huan worked with.

“I’ll call her to see if she’d like to arrange a private viewing.”

“Perhaps Wang Le, too.”

“Of course. Anyone else you have in mind specifically?”

Lan Zhan shook his head. Almost as one, they turned toward Wei Ying in order to bring him back into the conversation. “Your usual rates?”

“Sure,” Wei Ying said, though the thought now of letting these ones go sat bitterly on his tongue. It was for the best. The canvases and papers and silk scrolls and sides of buildings and photographs, these were all just things he did that allowed him to help keep the Burial Mounds going and this set was no different. The sooner he got rid of them, the sooner he wouldn’t have to keep facing what they meant.

“Are you sure?” Lan Huan asked, gesturing back. “I feel you’d be justified in asking for more.”

God, he really did hate this part. The negotiating. But Lan Zhan and Lan Huan were why Wei Ying wasn’t sitting on a street corner eating instant noodles, so he figured he owed them both this much professional courtesy. “If you think you can get more and want to go for it, then go for it. Otherwise, usual rates are fine.”

If they got more, Wei Ying was sure they’d just sink their cut back into the community or something.

Lan Huan nodded, pleased and tilted his head back toward the front of the complex. “Shall we?”

“I would like to stay behind for a moment,” Lan Zhan said, causing Wei Ying’s heart to almost rupture in his chest. No. No. Why did he want to stay behind? He never—he always went back with Lan Huan when they both came on these excursions.

“I’ll wait for you out—”

“No need. I’ll find my way back. Don’t trouble yourself.”

Oh, great.

Lan Huan offered both Wei Ying and Lan Zhan a smile in turn. “Very well. Then I’ll see you both later. I’ll have Jingyi and Wen Yuan make the arrangements to get these transported over.”

And then Lan Huan was striding away, stealing Wei Ying’s last chance to get out of this unscathed.

He and Lan Zhan were alone and Wei Ying wanted to perish on the spot.

But all he could do was wait for Lan Zhan to speak. Though words normally came to him immediately when Lan Zhan was present, this time, his throat betrayed him, leaving him high and dry in a very literal sense. Even when he swallowed, he couldn’t manage to work up enough saliva or courage to form proper speech.

Lan Zhan regularly had sex with men. On Wednesdays. Perfect, pristine Lan Zhan who probably looked incredible splayed across his sheets that were probably as perfect and pristine as him. He had sex with men on Wednesdays and it was good enough that they went out of their way to try hunting him down again and risk humiliation and he made them breakfast on Thursday mornings and Wei Ying didn’t even know Lan Zhan liked to cook enough to do such a thing when the only time they ever had dinner together like that was when Lan Zhan had been forced once to cook for a handful of people, including Wei Ying, some stupid reason or other and—

“You haven’t been by to see Turpentine this week yet,” Lan Zhan said, absolutely the last thing Wei Ying was expecting to hear. There was a question here that Lan Zhan was too circumspect to ask and for that Wei Ying would be forever grateful because that meant he didn’t have to answer.

“I—uh, it’s been busy. With the paintings.” That was true enough. It had already been a few days since Wei Ying had been by when Li Wenfang shattered his illusions and then, well, marathon painting session-cum-avoid Lan Zhan at all costs session. “I’ll make sure I come by soon with more of the pineapple you refuse to buy for her yourself, you—” You monster, was what he intended to say, but it felt too much like falling back into a pattern he couldn’t afford to hold. Sharp, he scuffed his thin-soled slippers over the floor. “Well. I’ll stop by to say hello. Was that all or…?”

Wei Ying winced. He was being a little bit rude and even Lan Zhan seemed to realize it, startling as he realized—not incorrectly, but why couldn’t he be conveniently dense about it—that Wei Ying was definitely trying to rush him out the door. He couldn’t explain it to Lan Zhan without looking even worse, but…

Lan Zhan nodded awkwardly, just once, sharp and crisp, going distant without a single thing in his features changing. “The work is excellent, Wei Ying.”

Lan Zhan, don’t be nice to me, Wei Ying thought as dread settled in his gut. He’d never be able to do this, not ever, but he had to, because the alternative was never seeing Lan Zhan at all and—and he’d just have to learn to live with it, wouldn’t he? Because not seeing Lan Zhan was an impossibility.

All he needed was time to process it. Though he didn’t say the words aloud, he gave that promise to Lan Zhan here. He’d work through this shit and they’d go back to how it was and it would be great.

“Thanks,” he replied, pathetic, and ducked his head. “Do you want me to…?”

“No, I’ll see myself out.” He got as far as the stairs before he stopped. Wei Ying expected him to turn or say something else, his heart in his throat as he waited from a good three meters away at least, but Lan Zhan did neither, though his shoulders lifted and fell as he took a breath and then exhaled.

Letting Lan Zhan go like this stung, the sense of failure acute, but what alternative did he have? He’d have to get used to this, wouldn’t he? Better to start now then let it get any worse.

Wei Ying wasn’t avoiding Lan Zhan. He really wasn’t. Which was one-hundred percent why he was skulking around the complex where Lan Zhan lived. Pacing back and forth on the sidewalk outside the gates, he muttered to himself, fists clenched in his jacket pockets, that all he had to do was walk inside, take the elevator up, play with Turpentine for a little while, and then go. He’d leave a note to prove he was there and then book it, all plausible deniability and no big deal. Of course, this was all relying on Wei Ying’s expectations that Lan Zhan wouldn’t be home right now. A good assumption, because he usually wasn’t, but his hours could be variable, so it wasn’t a certainty and Wei Ying didn’t dare message him to confirm one way or the other.

One hand clenched around the little bag of treats for Turpentine. The other, his phone, and still he didn’t move.

“Stupid,” Wei Ying said. “You’re so stupid. Lan Zhan has a life that doesn’t involve you? Big fucking deal, so does everyone else. You’re just—”

“Wei Ying?”

At that, Wei Ying jumped about ten feet in the air, but he could pretend he didn’t and spun smoothly—okay, not at all smoothly, but he could lie to himself about it if he wanted to—to see Lan Zhan approaching, arms laden down with fabric bags brimming with groceries. Fuck. Why? Why did Wei Ying waste so much time out here when he could have been up there already? Then, when Lan Zhan opened the door, he could have acted like he’d been there for a while and then dashed out the door and it might even have come across as entirely normal.

“Lan Zhan!” And then, to give himself something to do, he grabbed both bags from Lan Zhan’s arms and prayed to gods he didn’t even believe in that Lan Zhan hadn’t heard him talking to himself. “Let me take those.”

Lan Zhan’s gaze was searching, keen, but he nodded and fished his keys from his trouser pocket. The cashmere wool he wore today was a delicate shade of gray and fit well across his gro…

Enough thinking about that.

Why did it have to be the cashmere wool? Wasn’t it too hot for cashmere wool? Why did Wei Ying know it was the cashmere wool? What would that cashmere wool look like in a rumpled heap on the hardwood floor of Lan Zhan’s condo?

“You don’t—okay,” Lan Zhan said, when Wei Ying cuddled them protectively to his chest. If they maybe protected another piece of his anatomy from view, who could mind? “Have you been here long?”

“No, no! No. I just got here. I was just…” Wei Ying searched the scatter of his thoughts for a reasonable explanation. “Admiring the light before I went upstairs.”

Fuck, that was awful. Awful. The kind of thing Wei Ying would never actually say out loud. He was admiring the light? It wasn’t even especially good today. But Lan Zhan, ever the perfect gentleman, refrained from commenting and merely gestured Wei Ying in with an elegantly smooth wave of his hand, quiet as they walked inside.

“Thank you for coming,” Lan Zhan said as they entered the elevator.

When he tried to take the groceries from Wei Ying’s grasp again, Wei Ying turned away. “No, they’re mine now.”

“I would have bought more chili oil if they were for you.”

Was this the slowest elevator ride of all time? Wei Ying was beginning to think so, because they were only halfway as far up as they needed to be for Wei Ying to get some more space between himself and Lan Zhan. Heavens, the entire car smelled like sandalwood, except that was probably just Wei Ying’s imagination running wild. Lan Zhan was never so rude as to wear enough cologne to be a bother to anyone.

“More? As in you bought some?” Wei Ying squeaked.

“Mn. The old bottle was expiring.”

“You keep chili oil in your pantry now?” Wei Ying refused to believe it. What use did Lan Zhan have for it? Or… oh. He’d gone and let himself live in the version of reality he used to take for granted, the one in which Lan Zhan didn’t bring men home to his condo and—of course he’d be the sort of thoughtful person who keep condiments he didn’t like for guests.

The thought of it shouldn’t have turned his stomach.

The last time Wei Ying had had dinner here with Lan Zhan was… the first time he’d had dinner with Lan Zhan and it was a very long time ago and Wei Ying had suffered through the blandest meal of his life that night while Lan Huan had laughed at him and then teased Lan Zhan that he should have thought to buy some because Wei Ying hadn’t been able to fully hide the fact that the meal wasn’t entirely to his taste. At the time, it had just been one of those experiences he had: oh, yeah, Lan Zhan cooked for me once, haha, isn’t it funny that he’s not actually perfect?

He could strangle his past self for not appreciating it.

“I do.”

“Ha. Guess I’ll have to invite myself over to eat then!” If Wei Ying’s hands were free, he’d have slapped one of them over his mouth or maybe just, you know, slapped himself across the face or forehead and fully commit to punishing himself. Why the fuck did his mouth have to go and say that? What purpose did it serve? How stupid could he—

“You’d be welcome any time, Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan answered, entirely unruffled. “Tonight, even, if you’d like. There’s something I wished to speak with you about anyway. Now that you’re finished with the pieces for my brother, this might be the best time.”

Wei Ying’s stomach swooped along with the elevator car as it finally stopped with a slight lurch. Had Lan Zhan figured out why Wei Ying was acting this way? Did he want to let Wei Ying down gently? Or maybe he would be more direct than that. Lan Zhan was the direct sort.

“Only if you’re free, of course,” Lan Zhan added as they stepped into the hallway, Wei Ying apparently taking too long to answer. “I don’t wish to impose.”

“It’s not—” Lan Zhan could never impose upon Wei Ying. It was an impossibility in the world. It was Wei Ying who pressed and pressed for things he couldn’t get and shouldn’t want. But Lan Zhan asked for so little in return. The least Wei Ying could do was suffer through whatever indignities tonight might bring. If Lan Zhan wanted him to cut it out and stop being weird, well, Wei Ying was already trying to figure how to do just that; it wouldn’t be hard for him to make that promise out loud. “I’ll stay.”

“Good.”

And just like that, it was. Or Wei Ying was going to pretend until it seemed that way. As soon as he was inside Lan Zhan’s home, he darted to the kitchen and dumped the bags on the generously sized counter. “Do you want me to help put these away?”

“I’ll handle it. If you want to keep Turpentine occupied, that would be appreciated. I came home to check on her at lunch, but she was sleeping in her hutch at that time and I didn’t want to disturb her.” He looked sidelong at Wei Ying. “I do think she’s missed you.”

“Lan Zhan, like I wouldn’t do that anyway. Only you could make playing with a pet sound like some great favor is being done for you. Unbelievable.” But he grasped at the excuse to escape the too-small space of the kitchen with alacrity and exactly zero grace, all but throwing himself to the ground in front of the hutch to see if she was in there. The thing was huge, fitted against the corner in an L-shape that filled almost the entirety of the wall by the sliding glass door before turning the corner of the abutting wall to fill almost the whole length of it, too. He did a little shimmy on his stomach to get close. “Have you thought about getting a little rabbit friend for her?”

“Yes,” Lan Zhan said as he retrieved the groceries from inside the bags, “but the shelter I got her from said she was territorial and preferred to be solitary. It happens sometimes, I’ve been told.”

Just as Wei Ying was going to get up and check around the house, he saw movement inside of a large cardboard tube in one corner of the hutch. “Ah ha! There you are, Tiny.” Holding his hand out, he made little tsking sounds with his mouth. “Hey, baby. What are you doing in there, huh? Come on out and say hello. I have something for you.”

Turpentine nosed at the entrance of the tube before finally hopping forward toward the already open door of the hutch. She jumped toward him. Once she was close enough, he carefully scooped her up and held her close to his chest. “Did mean, old Lan Zhan leave you all by yourself again? How could he be so cruel to you? There, there. I’m here now.” He tilted his head down and touched his nose to hers. Then, her nose twitched and she sneezed in Wei Ying’s face. “Hey! Rude!”

There was a noise from the kitchen area and Wei Ying looked up just in enough time to see Lan Zhan duck his head as he inspected a bell pepper. When Lan Zhan lifted his head again, he gave Wei Ying a look that Wei Ying couldn’t decipher. “What is it?” Lan Zhan asked.

I was about to ask you the same question. “Nothing.”

Lan Zhan turned away to wash and slice the pepper.

“Your father is very weird,” Wei Ying whispered into Turpentine’s ear. Her nose twitched again and Wei Ying couldn’t tell whether it was in agreement or disagreement. Placing her back on the floor, he retrieved the treats from his pocket and arranged one near her paw before stroking one finger over the back of her head. He then stretched to grab one of Turpentine’s balls from the hutch and began rolling it between his hands as he waited for her to finish chewing on the bit of pineapple. While she ate, he watched Lan Zhan’s back as he continued working at the sink.

Li Wenfang had mentioned that Lan Zhan took him out to dinner, but did he ever do this with his dates? Did they sit on the floor and play with Turpentine while Lan Zhan worked in the kitchen, maybe watching Lan Zhan the way Wei Ying was doing now? He almost opened his mouth to pose the question to Turpentine before he realized how stupid that would be. What if Lan Zhan heard him? It wasn’t like Turpentine could tattle on Lan Zhan anyway.

Her head moved eagerly, following the motion of the ball. When he rolled it to her, she nosed it his way again. Wei Ying repeated the action and Turpentine did the same and they occupied a few good minutes this way, until Turpentine got bored and hopped toward the sliding glass door.

“Can Tiny go outside if I keep an eye on her?” he called out.

“Sure.”

Wei Ying got to his feet and unlatched the door, sitting back down and leaning against the cool frame as he watched her hop toward the little ramp that let her up onto her patch of grass. She darted around, running in circles before launching herself into the flowers.

“Do you want to give these to her?” Lan Zhan asked, suddenly right behind him, startling him for a second time as Lan Zhan held out a plate of red pepper slices to him. Though his heart stammered in his chest, Wei Ying was able to take the plate and not drop them all over himself and the floor or brain himself with the plate somehow.

“What? All of these are for her? What about me?”

“They’re for you, too, as long as you share,” Lan Zhan said before retreating again to the kitchen.

Wei Ying flicked one of the slices at the grass, aiming away from where Turpentine was currently chewing on a flower. She hopped back out to inspect it and began eating it instead. Wei Ying popped one into his mouth as well, pleased with the crisp snap of it between his teeth, the bright burst of flavor, the coolness of the water still clinging to it. “Thanks, Lan Zhan.” Wei Ying tossed another to Turpentine. “Tiny likes them, too.”

For a moment, he wished he’d thought to bring his sketchbook and wondered if Lan Zhan had any spare paper lying around.

Without Turpentine to play with and nothing else with which to occupy his hands, he couldn’t help but worry about whatever it was Lan Zhan wanted to talk to him about again. It might have been anything, but Wei Ying couldn’t stop himself from catastrophizing anyway.

“—ei Ying?”

Wei Ying startled at the sound of Lan Zhan’s voice, so much louder than his usual. Jumping, he turned to look and found himself staring into a pair of very concerned looking golden eyes. Were they always that particular shade, like the light at sunset or was Wei Ying just imagining it? “Sorry, what was that?”

“I’ve been calling you for a few minutes,” Lan Zhan answered. “You were far away.”

“I was—” Though he scrambled for an answer, he couldn’t find one, but as his gaze trailed across the balcony while he tried to gather his thoughts up, he found Turpentine nudging at his socked foot. “I’m not sure what I was doing. Thinking, I guess.” Except that he didn’t have a single clue what he’d been thinking about. The last however many minutes were just gone, mist burned off by the sun, leaving behind not a single trace. Reaching down to scoop Turpentine into his arms, he cradled her close as he brought her back inside and closed the door. “I’m sorry. What did you want?”

“Dinner is done.”

And so it was. Lan Zhan’s condo had an incredibly open floor plan which made it very easy for Wei Ying to see that his dining room table was already laden down with bowls of noodles while Lan Zhan dished out some kind of stir-fry onto the plates. Crouching, he let Turpentine jump out of his hands so she could race around the floor. He only came back to the table once he washed his hands at the kitchen sink. Inhaling, Wei Ying clutched his chest theatrically, scrambling to think of what he would do if these were normal circumstances. “Lan Zhan, it smells so good.”

With a liberal dose of chili oil, it would even be edible, though his stomach rebelled at the thought of eating. Lan Zhan retrieved the jar from the kitchen counter and placed it on Wei Ying’s side of the table.

“Everyone is pleased with the work you sent over to Hanshi,” Lan Zhan said as Wei Ying sat down. After retrieving a pot of tea as well as a pair of tea cups, he returned to the table and poured some for Wei Ying. “Madam Lin intends to purchase them at twenty percent above your normal rates and a few magazine critics are interested in featuring the pieces.”

Oh. This was what Lan Zhan wanted to discuss: business, of course. Though he should have been relieved, he realized that a part of him really had maybe wanted to hash this all out now and get it over with. Picking up one of the uniformly cut strips of tofu with his chopsticks, he popped it into his mouth and hummed. After swallowing, he said, “Interviews, too?”

Lan Zhan shook his head. He hadn’t even retrieved his chopsticks from the napkin he’d placed them on. “Not unless you want to.”

“Not really.”

“I suspected as much.” He glanced down at his plate, then his cup, finally deciding to drink deeply before refilling it. “Wei Ying, I was hoping…”

“Yes?” Wei Ying asked too quickly, cheeks going warm.

“Have you begun a new project yet?”

Ha. As though he’d had the brain capacity to work since—since the triptych. Without it to focus on, all he had was this, this knowledge he carried. About Lan Zhan. About himself. There was no room for anything else right now. “No.”

Lan Zhan pushed a snap pea around his plate using his chopsticks. “Then I was hoping I might commission you for a few pieces whenever you felt ready to take on another project.”

Wei Ying’s grip went slack as Lan Zhan spoke and he almost dropped his own pair of chopsticks. He certainly coughed as he swallowed and then made matters worse when he inhaled. When Lan Zhan moved to stand, Wei Ying waved him off, but though that settled him back in his seat, he still reached across the table to pour more tea and then hand the cup to Wei Ying. That, he did accept, and he drank gratefully, voice a little hoarse when he finally did speak. “You want me to paint for you?”

No, no, no. At any other time, he would have done so gladly, pushed his every other obligation aside to impress Lan Zhan. Hell, he never would have imagined any such possibility, because though Lan Zhan always regarded his work fairly, praising it when it deserved it and asking him pointed questions when it didn’t, he’d never personally expressed an interest. Given Lan Zhan’s general tastes, elegant almost to the point of completely invisible neutrality, he’d always figured Lan Zhan was straddling the line between kindness and empathy with him—knowing when Wei Ying’s work was good while having no interest in it otherwise.

“Yes,” Lan Zhan said simply. “Is that so very strange?”

Yes! That was to say… no? Wei Ying did accept commissions from time to time—thoroughly vetted commissions—and he was happy to do favors for his friends, but this felt different. Lan Zhan spoke as though it was a given that he would want Wei Ying’s work, when Wei Ying could not assume anything of the sort for himself.

This was, apparently, a week to be pushed over by Lan Zhan, directly or indirectly. He felt exactly the same way as he did when he almost fell from that dumb bar stool not so very long ago.

“What is—” He couldn’t do this, not now, not when he was… the way he was, but tell that to his stupid heart, which didn’t dare say no, which did want to stake this claim on Lan Zhan’s life. He might not have Lan Zhan in the bedroom and he might not live in Lan Zhan’s heart, but he could splash himself across whatever walls of his home that Lan Zhan would allow. “What’s the work?”

“Two paintings and a mural.”

Wei Ying scoffed. “A mural? Lan Zhan, that’s…”

“If you don’t wish to do it, that’s fine,” Lan Zhan said with even equanimity, like it didn’t truly matter one way or the other if Wei Ying did this for him. That couldn’t possibly have been true or he wouldn’t have asked, but it still stung a little bit that Lan Zhan would posit such a thing and then not fight for it. Wei Ying wasn’t looking for reassurances, but maybe he needed them anyway. Lan Zhan maybe realized this after a moment, because he added: “But I’ve been considering this for a long time. I would like to have a few of your pieces on display here.”

That was—it was too much. “But a mural, Lan Zhan?”

“Mn,” he replied, entirely certain and secure in his decision.

The paintings wouldn’t be an issue. It was just the fucking mural he couldn’t get over. It was somehow exactly as intimate as when he was occasionally asked to design a tattoo for someone even though it would only mean defacing a wall rather than someone’s skin. Of course, Lan Zhan would never do such a thing to himself, but this was the equivalent of that. If Wei Ying was going to paint a mural… then that meant Lan Zhan intended to stay here, right? How could he tie himself down that way to something of Wei Ying’s? It would be irresponsible to do this for Lan Zhan even though Lan Zhan was the one asking. “Where?”

“The bedroom.”

Wei Ying’s insides twisted themselves into painful knots. “N—” But he couldn’t get the denial out either. He’d never even seen Lan Zhan’s bedroom. He couldn’t just—fuck. His life was really out to get him, wasn’t it? Two weeks ago, he’d have flipped for the chance to poke around Lan Zhan’s bedroom just for the hell of it. He’d have died for the opportunity to take ownership of an entire wall of that room, mischievous and carefree about it the whole time. But now… now he knew himself to be a fool. The thought of Lan Zhan bringing people back to his condo, leading them into that space, with a piece of Wei Ying right there? “Lan Zhan…”

“I have considered it for a long time. I wouldn’t have made the request if I wasn’t serious.”

“What do you—” Wei Ying swallowed, mouth dry again. Not even tea could ease the tugging ache as his throat worked. “What did you have in mind?”

“I would leave that decision up to you.”

“Lan Zhan! That’s not—” It wasn’t fair that Lan Zhan should now be giving Wei Ying everything he might have wanted after the point at which Wei Ying could no longer gleefully take it. Knowing what he knew, it was too dangerous to be given free rein. “You have to have some idea of what it is you want.”

“I only wish for you to paint what you are moved to paint.”

That was… sort of sweet actually except for how it was of little practical use. “Oh, so I could just draw Turpentine all over your walls and you’d be okay with that? Lan Zhan, be reasonable.”

“If that is what you wish to do, then so be it.”

“Lan Zhan!” The chopsticks slammed against the table beneath his palm. “This is serious. You want me to paint the wall of your bedroom. You have to s—sleep there. You’ll see it every day and you’d have to paint over it to get rid of it.”

“I am aware of what my request entails and I remain entirely sincere in my request. Again, if you don’t wish to do it, then I won’t push, but… I would like it if you’d consider. I’ll pay you whatever your asking price plus the cost in supplies and materials.”

Wei Ying might have wept for how frustrating he found this whole situation. Here, Lan Zhan was already assuring him of the finances and Wei Ying couldn’t even get past the fact that he’d have to cross the threshold into Lan Zhan’s bedroom to accomplish Lan Zhan’s wish. “As though I’d ask you to pay me. Lan Zhan, you’ve done so much for me over the years.” Neither he nor the Burial Mounds would have gotten anywhere if Lan Zhan wasn’t there in the background pushing his work and the work of the people he’d collected to himself. “I’d be happy to do anything you want, it’s just… it’s a lot, okay?”

“There is no time sensitivity to the request,” Lan Zhan offered, because of course he was good and wished to give Wei Ying an out. Wei Ying wasn’t entirely stupid though. Lan Zhan wouldn’t have asked if he was busy if he didn’t hope for Wei Ying to make this project a priority for reasons Wei Ying couldn’t ascertain. “If you would like time to consider it.”

There was a note of… something in Lan Zhan’s voice. Perhaps it was disappointment and who could blame Lan Zhan for it if this was really what he wanted? Wei Ying had never in their whole acquaintance, an acquaintance that stretched all the way back to their years in college together, shied away from a project he was truly interested in.

Wei Ying’s hesitance gave him away, but hopefully it was in such a way that Lan Zhan wouldn’t figure out the source. “You really want me in your bedroom?”

Instantly, Wei Ying was mortified by his own phrasing, but he couldn’t take it back or it would make it even weirder.

“I don’t mind you being there,” Lan Zhan insisted, neutral, “if that is your concern.”

That was… Wei Ying sighed and slumped and didn’t allow himself to feel let down by the lukewarm, bland quality of Lan Zhan’s voice as he said it. Wei Ying’s presence there didn’t make a difference to Lan Zhan at all, when for Wei Ying it felt like having the ground pulled out from beneath his feet.

And yet, if this wasn’t a sign of exactly where Wei Ying stood…

“Show me,” he said, succumbing to the inevitable. There would be no denying Lan Zhan anything, not even this, it seemed.

“You’ve barely eaten,” Lan Zhan said.

“I’d like to take a look.”

“After we eat.” In illustration, he brought his chopsticks to his stupidly beautiful mouth and took a slice of bell pepper between his lips. “There is time.”

Not for Wei Ying, who felt like he would combust, but how could he explain it to Lan Zhan that he needed to get this all over with as soon as possible or he’d lose his nerve entirely and then make an even bigger fool of himself? And now he had to pretend he still had an appetite? It was all way too much for him. He wasn’t going to survive this. Though he said that a lot and somehow continued living, he was sure this time he really wouldn’t.

It ended up being maybe the quietest meal Wei Ying had participated in and he couldn’t precisely remember the course of it until suddenly he was looking down at his plate and it was empty enough that Lan Zhan finally let him push it aside; Wei Ying was left mentally smacking himself because he utterly and entirely wasted the opportunity to appreciate dinner at Lan Zhan’s place for the second time. When would he get to taste Lan Zhan’s charmingly quaint food again? He could barely remember it at all or the taste of the stir-fry or anything except the thought of getting to see Lan Zhan’s bedroom.

He’d bet it was beautiful and clean and precisely organized and Lan Zhan wanted to risk wrecking that pristine stillness by letting Wei Ying’s hands get all over it.

How could he be so calm as he led Wei Ying back there and even more calm as he pushed open the door, holding it open so Wei Ying could step past him to get inside?

The two walls that made up the far corner were floor-to-ceiling windows, exposed to that view Wei Ying loved and so much more. From this direction, you could see the nearby lake that was always hidden from the balcony, large and glinting in the afternoon sun, untouched by the city growing up behind it in the other direction. The windows were sectioned off in such a way by gray-blond frames the color of driftwood that at least a few could surely be opened to allow a breeze inside.

The bed stood in the center of the wall perpendicular to the door on a raised platform of the same elegantly weathered wood. The comforter was a crisp white, thin and quilted in equally white thread for a bit of texture.

It was lovely, spartan in such a warm way that Wei Ying was left almost bereft amidst it all. Of course this was what Lan Zhan’s private area would look like and Wei Ying could do anything here. To call it a blank slate might have been a little rude, but there were so many options open to him in a room like this. “Which wall?”

“Whichever you choose. Or both.”

Wei Ying turned once, tried to envision something, a starting point at least. “Would you be willing to move your bed?”

“If you wish.”

Wei Ying nodded. Lan Zhan truly wanted to spoil him for choice. An image was already forming in his mind of warm, pale blues, hazy still, but if he gave it time, he was certain he could find what he was looking for.

He itched again for his sketchbook, but made due with the sketching app on his phone, swiping the handful of colors he was imagining in one corner of the minuscule white page. “Do you care if I take a few pictures?”

Lan Zhan shook his head. If he was nervous to have Wei Ying in his room, he didn’t say anything about it, even as Wei Ying stepped further into the room. He didn’t even say anything as Wei Ying flipped up the comforter to get a look at the bed’s platform, which was high enough to allow for a few drawers. He snapped a shot of the sleek gray metal handles and then walked over to the windows to take a few more pictures.

The bed stand on the right hand side of the bed held only a simple lamp that complimented the handles on the drawers.

Wei Ying wondered if they were constructed with one another in mind.

It honestly wouldn’t have surprised him if that was the case and he was reluctantly charmed by the thought. Then again, he was equally charmed by the thought of Lan Zhan hunting meticulously through stores looking for just the right lamp, too. He was, in general, very charmed and very screwed in equal measure.

After wandering over to the windows and taking a few pictures there, too, he turned and noticed a small door that must have led to a small closet and Wei Ying lifted his camera to get a shot of it. It was only after he lifted it, though, that he realized he had Lan Zhan in frame and couldn’t quite stop himself from panning the phone slightly to get more of him inside of it.

There was an adorably confused expression on Lan Zhan’s face in the picture and in real life and Wei Ying couldn’t deal with that, so he dusted his hands together around the phone and then pocketed it. “All done.”

“Will you do it?”

What the hell, Wei Ying thought. He was already fucked anyway. “Sure, Lan Zhan. You mentioned two paintings, as well? Do you have something in mind for those at least?”

Lan Zhan shook his head.

“You just want a few Wei Ying originals, huh?”

“Is that so unfathomable?”

He’d already asked this once and Wei Ying still didn’t have a great answer. “Just wondering why now, I guess.”

Maybe he didn’t have a clue either, because he just looked away and said, “Why not now?”

Why not indeed. “So, can one of those paintings be of Turpentine?”

“If it would make you happy.”

Was that what he wanted? To make Wei Ying happy? There was a much easier way to do that. But if this was what Wei Ying could get, he’d make the best of it. “Okay, Lan Zhan, then I guess I’m yours for the next little while.”

Lan Zhan’s features froze upon him hearing Wei Ying’s careless words and Wei Ying could have kicked himself for putting them out there in the world. Stupid. Foolish. God, it sounded like the worst sort of flirting and Wei Ying hadn’t even meant to try, not like he sometimes did.

But he’d never gotten a reaction before and certainly not such an obviously negative one. Here, this was only the second time he’d seen Lan Zhan since he found out about the… the supposed spreadsheet that he was certain was bullshit and Wednesday hookups that were sadly very much not bullshit and he was already making Lan Zhan uncomfortable. But he’d just given Lan Zhan his word and he couldn’t just take it back though that was his desperate wish.

He’d have to learn to keep his damned mouth shut, especially while he was here painting the wall—or walls, he found himself wanting to paint every fucking spare inch of white space in this room, floor to ceiling and even the ceiling, too, honestly, put his mark on every bit of this room that he was allowed to touch, since he couldn’t touch the one thing here that mattered.

This was absolutely going to be a nightmare, but Wei Ying pasted a smile on his mouth anyway. Anything to keep his expression from crumbling into the pathetic mess it wanted to become.

For his effort, he did receive a hesitant smile from Lan Zhan in return.

Just that, he decided, made this all worth it.

Wei Ying awoke once again hard, body aching, a sound in his mouth that he wasn’t awake enough to muffle with his pillow.

Again! At least this time he didn’t actually…

He still glared down at himself, betrayed, because this just didn’t happen to him, not like this. He jerked off and it was fine and he admired beautiful people and beautiful personalities and sometimes he jerked off thinking about the pretty curve of a mouth or the long, lithe lines of a torso and it was fine and he sometimes even woke up with erections—which—was—fine.

What he didn’t do was wake up with his skin flushed and sweat prickling in his hairline and his heart thumping wildly in his chest, body so fucking aroused that he couldn’t think of anything except wrapping his hand around himself and then—oh, hey, even more embarrassing! Coming across his stomach in all of five seconds! Like he was thirteen all over again and everything felt like way, way too much, unfocused and directionless, and—

And all he’d been thinking about was pushing Lan Zhan against a paint-splattered wall and kissing the life out of him, leaving streaks of paint behind on his chest, his cheeks, in his hair as Wei Ying tugged the strands until his neck was bared for Wei Ying to—

“Fuck!” he yelled, slamming his fist into his thigh as he grabbed his abandoned t-shirt from the end of the bed to wipe the come from his abdomen. Fuck, this wasn’t going to work, not if this kept happening and he was sure it was going to because Lan Zhan and he are scheduled to meet in—he dived for his phone, which had somehow ended up on the floor—twenty minutes to go over Wei Ying’s ideas, so rudimentary that he hadn’t even begun sketching them out yet.

Shit. He was going to be late. There was no way around it. This wasn’t who he tried to be these days, learning a long time ago the very hard way that being late made life too damned difficult and he was lazy at the heart of it and wanted to save up the goodwill he generates by not being a complete asshole at random for when he absolutely had to be an asshole, like when he needed to completely upend a gallery show at the last second because he came up with a better idea and knew he could execute it with time to spare.

There was nothing for it. Lan Zhan was probably already at the tea shop he favored, waiting patiently for Wei Ying to show up, expecting him at the correct time because Wei Ying wasn’t the guy who devalued Lan Zhan’s time anymore.

At least it wasn’t far even on foot. If he took the car, it’d be even quicker.

Lan Zhan picked up his call on the second ring, ever polite. “Lan Zhan.”

Fuck, did he always sound that good on the phone? It was impossible, right?

Holding his own up to his ear with his shoulder, he sorted through the jumble of clean clothes he’d never properly hung up after doing his laundry earlier in the week, glad at the very least that there were clean clothes to be sorted at all. “Hey, Lan Zhan. I’m so, so sorry, but I’m going to be a little late. Maybe twenty minutes? Will that be okay?”

“That’s fine,” Lan Zhan answered, even though it wasn’t fine, even though Lan Zhan had every right to be annoyed with him, would have been once upon a time. “Don’t rush.”

Oh, I’ll rush. He was scared as fuck to have to look Lan Zhan in the eye after waking up from the dream he just had, but he wasn’t going to delay the inevitable when it was going to inconvenience Lan Zhan further. “I’ll be there soon.”

He kept digging through to find underwear and came up empty.

Fuck his life truly. This just wasn’t fair at all. Everything else was clean, even his socks. Still, despite knowing better, he rummaged in the empty drawers on the bottom of his crappy old wardrobe with the glossy, peeling paint. The world really, truly, desperately wanted to fuck with him.

Needs must. He wasn’t going to go commando to any meeting with Lan Zhan right now and the tiny, old, barely functional washing machine they had wouldn’t be fast enough. Stripping off the pair he was wearing as soon as he reached the bathroom, he scrubbed them quickly in the sink with some soap, wrung them out, and then hung them up to dry on the towel rack while he showered. Once he was out again, instead of drying his hair, he brushed his teeth and held up the blow dryer to his underwear and cursed his entire damned life for how pathetic this was.

The boxer briefs were still a little damp when he put them on and they clung to his thighs uncomfortably, but it was better than risking anything worse happening. As soon as he put his jeans and t-shirt on, he was as ready as he’d ever be and raced out the door, notebook and phone in hand, pen jammed behind his ear, only managing to forget his wallet in the process because nothing that couldn’t go wrong couldn’t go wrong just that little bit worse.

He wouldn’t realize this, of course, until he was at the tea shop, but before he could pull out his phone, Lan Zhan was coming up behind him, holding out his bank card to the cashier. “On me, please,” he said. “Hello, Wei Ying.” His gaze settled on Wei Ying’s bangs, which were currently dripping into his eyes. Possibly not the most seductive look he could have come up with, not that he should have been worried about seducing Lan Zhan right now. Or ever. Even imagining taking Lan Zhan back to Burial Mounds and letting him peel his wet underwear from his body was ridiculous…

Ridiculously hot. Was it hot in here? There had to be something wrong with the thermostat.

“You didn’t have to rush,” Lan Zhan continued, unburdened by such a concern as peeling Wei Ying out of anything. Lucky, lucky bastard.

“I didn’t wake up today intending to waste your time, Lan Zhan. I know you have other things to do.” Clients to represent. Meetings to attend. Men to ruin for other men. The usual for him apparently.

“You called to let me know. I didn’t mind.”

“Lan Zhan! Don’t be so—”

“Your tea is ready,” Lan Zhan said, pointing at the counter where a tray with a pot as well as several porcelain cups suddenly stood. “Shall we sit?”

“You can’t just win an argument by walking away!” He quickly picked up his tray, thanked the shopkeeper, and followed Lan Zhan to the table he’d staked out, their usual whenever they came here, the one by the windows that let Wei Ying people watch from the best vantage point.

Lan Zhan took the tray from Wei Ying’s hands and set it on the table. “Are we arguing?”

“Yes!” Wei Ying jammed his finger into the table as he sat. “No. I just feel bad, Lan Zhan.”

“Don’t.” His eyes searched Wei Ying’s face. “You look like you haven’t been sleeping well. You’re usually up by nine…”

It was well past ten now, he didn’t point out. If he’d woken up at nine, he would have had plenty of time to get here. “I’m okay. I just forgot to set the alarm, I guess.”

Lan Zhan’s gaze was piercing to the point of awkwardness, so Wei Ying cleared his throat and poured a cup of tea to distract himself from the way it seemed to linger, heated, on Wei Ying’s face, forcing him to blush, the whole experience laden, on Wei Ying’s side alone, with all of the pornographic bullshit cluttering his mind currently.

“Wei Ying, if you don’t wish to do this…”

“Don’t be stupid. There’s nothing I’d rather do.” Except maybe fuck you over this table or take you to bed gently or walk through a museum exhibition with our fingers entwi… Yeah, okay, that was enough of that. He whipped his notebook onto the table and pulled his pen from behind his ear and studiously avoided looking at any part of Lan Zhan’s stupid, perfect face, which left his sweater-clad chest, the fabric looked lightweight and soft to the touch. “See?”

A look of doubt crossed Lan Zhan’s features, but he settled for taking a sip from his own cup instead.

“So,” Wei Ying said when it was clear that Lan Zhan didn’t intend to do any of the talking now. “I haven’t sketched anything out yet, because I wanted to gauge your reaction first and see how you felt about the colors.” This wasn’t how he normally worked—color tended to be the last thing he thought about—but this wasn’t just a mural really, it was interior design. It felt important to settle that matter first. On his phone, he pulled up the handful of palettes he’d come up with.

“I told you I’d like to leave it up to you to decide,” Lan Zhan answered, stubborn, refusing to take Wei Ying’s phone.

“Yeah, tell that to me in six months when your eyeballs are bleeding from being so sick of looking at your walls that you start contemplating murder.”

“Wei Ying—”

“I’m deciding, okay? Just look at the palettes. You don’t even have to say anything or express an opinion. I won’t tell you anything about it.” He’d be able to tell something from Lan Zhan’s reactions anyway. He hoped anyway. It was, admittedly, kind of hard when he couldn’t look Lan Zhan in the eye. When Lan Zhan finally took the phone, Wei Ying rounded the table, too, sitting next to Lan Zhan as he swiped slowly through. Wei Ying watched his face, maintaining a careful blankness on his own, and hands in turn and was pretty sure Lan Zhan was counting time in his head to ensure he didn’t linger too long on any one palette.

Still, he was pretty sure Lan Zhan felt something about the fourth one. It was Wei Ying’s favorite, reminded him of Lan Zhan the most: pale grays and hazy blues, a touch of the steady, deep green of pine trees.

Lan Zhan handed his phone back, making him realize that, uh, they were actually very close and Wei Ying could smell his cologne, a scent he wore so often that it was intractably linked with Lan Zhan in Wei Ying’s mind. And his mouth was really, really close and Wei Ying jerked back, startled, nearly dropping the phone.

Get it together, he begged himself even as a thrum of desire struck a blow against his body from which he worried he would never recover. Just this once for old times’ sake.

Stupid, stupid. Maybe he did need to get laid. Surely that would help? But the thought of doing that with anyone who wasn’t Lan Zhan really put a damper on the whole idea. It was almost as good as a cold shower.

Frowning and pouting a little bit, he took back his seat on the other side of the table. “Thank you for indulging me,” he said, dry. At least one thing was settled. “I was thinking because your room is really minimalist that I’d do something busier with the walls, is that okay?”

“I did say you can do anything you’d like.”

Wei Ying rolled his eyes. Yeah, he knew. Lan Zhan trusted him and Wei Ying was determined not to betray that trust or himself in the process. “Will you not let me feel a little bit of security that I’m not running roughshod over your tastes and desires? I know you’ll take anything, but I want to give you my best as it pertains specifically to you, not just whatever I might pull out of my ass for myself. The challenge is as much fun as the freedom, I promise you.”

Lan Zhan’s brows furrowed and he opened his mouth as though to argue. Wei Ying lifted his hand to forestall it.

“What kind of busy?” Lan Zhan asked, meeting him halfway.

“Landscape across both walls, sort of traditional, but also… not.”

He hadn’t gotten much further than that to be honest; he’d need to fiddle until he found the balance he was looking for. Whatever it ended up being, he wanted it to feel like Lan Zhan. He just didn’t know quite what that meant yet in terms of this project.

Lan Zhan seemed to ponder this for a moment before nodding. Another hurdle crossed, Wei Ying supposed, even if technically there were no hurdles. He felt safe enough to move forward with some preliminary ideas and then maybe pull another tooth out of Lan Zhan’s head as he tried to make Lan Zhan offer any sort of opinion at all when he normally had more than enough with which to get by.

“I was thinking the paintings could be along similar lines,” Wei Ying added. “Unless you’d prefer something entirely different for them.”

“I’ll tr—”

Wei Ying waved him off. Why did he even bother asking? “I’ll just go with that.” Lan Zhan was somehow both the easiest and most frustrating client who’d ever been put before Wei Ying. It was really impressive. “Thank you, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Zhan nodded and resumed drinking his tea. His phone screen lit up with a call, but he merely flipped it over to hide the fact.

“Lan Zhan, you can take the call!”

“It can wait until we’re finished here.”

Wei Ying almost pointed out that they were, technically, finished here, but if Lan Zhan wanted to linger, then so be it. Maybe he just really liked the tea here. What did Wei Ying know about it?

Shifting, Wei Ying grimaced as his underwear pulled awkwardly across his crotch. All that succeeded in doing was sending a jolt of sensation through him that caught him off guard, too subdued to be true pleasure, but well on its way there, especially when Lan Zhan was right here within easy reach.

The sooner he got out of here and the sooner he got these thoughts out of his head, the better.

Surprisingly, it was Lan Zhan who carried the bulk of the conversation as they drank their tea, which meant they discussed upcoming events in vague detail and didn’t get very far otherwise as Wei Ying doodled, topic shifting quickly from one thing to the next. It wasn’t that Lan Zhan was a bad conversationalist, but he tended toward quietude, so if the other party didn’t pick up the slack or ask questions, Lan Zhan didn’t volunteer any further information.

He didn’t deliberately withhold information either; it just didn’t occur to him to say anything.

It was, Wei Ying thought, part of his charm and it could be fun when Wei Ying was in the mood to tease the words out of him.

But not today, not when he was barely keeping it together as it was and the only thing keeping him from losing it entirely was the various little sketches he was making: trees, snowy mountains, waterfalls, a crane.

By the time Lan Zhan gathered up his things and said his farewells, Wei Ying was exhausted, emotionally and physically, and he maybe, possibly, embarrassingly went back to bed after jerking off in his bathroom while thinking about Lan Zhan’s hands as they curled around his mug, slim and elegant and long, perfect hands, hands that belonged on Wei Ying and nowhere else.

Even he realized that something was going to have to give eventually, but he was perfectly happy putting it off for as long as possible.

By the time Wei Ying was done with the myriad small scale versions of his idea he’d been working on—he’d tested a variety of motifs and slight variations on the palette and styles from traditional Song all the way down to so modern it barely qualified as landscape anymore, far more like his abstract work than anything found in nature—he was beginning to realize that Lan Zhan was going to figure out Wei Ying’s fixation and it was only a matter of time because even after a week and a half of doing nothing but painting and haunting the Burial Mounds and surreptitiously ensuring Lan Zhan didn’t think he was avoiding him by sending selfies and shitty aesthetic shots of paintbrushes to prove he was working, he was no better off than before.

Even without seeing Lan Zhan, he still spent half of his time entirely out of his mind with a need to knock both himself and Lan Zhan into a bed somewhere, anywhere, it didn’t even matter at this point if it was a bed. Even a floor would suffice. Hell, maybe even a vertical surface would be just fine even though that seemed like it would be a pain in the ass outside of Wei Ying’s viscerally compelling thoughts.

It was distracting, the way he dripped hormones all over himself. Any thought of Lan Zhan pushed him to the end of his endurance; his ability to 1. stay away and 2. not do something stupid was reaching its limit.

Which was why he maybe found himself in the kitchen at three in the morning, sleep deprived and crazed around the edges, cornering Mo Xuanyu, who was minding his own business with a bowl of cereal and a hunted expression once Wei Ying caught his eye and turned on the overhead lights instead of relying on the ajar refrigerator door for illumination. “Mo Xuanyu. Yuyu. Didi.”

“Holy fucking shit,” Mo Xuanyu replied, eyes round, nearly sloshing cereal-infested milk as he flinched. Cradling the bowl close to his body, he curled in on himself, like hiding would do him even a bit of good now. “Get some sleep for the love of god.”

“I need Li Wenfang’s number,” Wei Ying replied, desperate. If not for the cereal and the threat of spilling milk across the floor, Wei Ying would have done something even more drastic like grab Mo Xuanyu by the shirt and shake him until the digits fell out of his mouth.

Somewhere between trying to go to bed and now, Wei Ying figured it out:

One round in the sack with Lan Zhan was more than zero rounds in the sack with Lan Zhan. If he found out what it was like, then maybe his suffering would be lessened. Sure, Li Wenfang complained that he’d been ruined for other men by Lan Zhan, but he had to get in line because Wei Ying had staked that claim to ruination years ago and he still managed to get by. At least Li Wenfang had something to show for it. What did Wei Ying have? Awkward boners? At this rate, he was going to have to get used to those anyway.

But if he showed even a modicum of Li Wenfang’s initiative, he might get to have this, too, and Wei Ying would at least be back to where he started.

He just needed to know how it happened. How did he convince Lan Zhan he was worth the time of day? Wei Ying couldn’t wrap his mind around that. And sure, he was working at a disadvantage since he wasn’t just somebody from out of town he wasn’t expected to see on the regular, but he had to start somewhere.

Mo Xuanyu crumbled quickly and then begged Wei Ying to leave as soon as he’d betrayed his friend. Wei Ying was glad to do so.

“Never speak of this,” Wei Ying said, finger nearly poking Mo Xuanyu in the eye as he gestured in this face.

“Trust me, I’m gonna drink to forget this ever happened as soon as you’re gone. What freakish shake down at three in the morning, Wei Ying? I don’t remember any freakish shake downs. I was just trying to eat. That’s all.”

Wei Ying clapped him on the shoulder and squeezed once. “Good man.”

“Yeah, fuck you.” He shoved his spoon into his mouth and glared, chewing viciously. “Just don’t corner me like this again. You know I’m an easy target this late at night.”

Wei Ying was halfway back to the stairs when Mo Xuanyu called after him. “Don’t embarrass me.”

“No promises,” Wei Ying called back, because he knew himself and how the only thing he still knew how to be was an embarrassment.

“Tell me everything you did to get Lan Zhan to have sex with you,” was the first thing he said when he called Li Wenfang. Luckily, he waited until a reasonable hour of the day to do so. Unluckily, Li Wenfang was a cliché.

“What the fuck. It’s noon. Who is this? How’d you get my number?”

“It’s Wei Ying. Mo Xuanyu gave it to me,” he answered, wincing, because maybe he should have led with that. “And what do you mean, ‘It’s noon?’ Shouldn’t you be up by now?”

“Hell no.” There was the sound of rustling, then a whisper that Wei Ying couldn’t quite make out, and lastly the slap of skin against skin and a giggle. A flush crept up Wei Ying’s neck as he tried to imagine what was slapping what.

Wei Ying had a hard time imagining Lan Zhan spending any length of time with a man like this, but apparently it was true and Wei Ying was left with the uncertainty of whether that made him sad or not. Shouldn’t Lan Zhan at least be spending time with people of his caliber? Did he feel like he had to settle? Even the thought of Lan Zhan settling for one night was one night of settling too many. “Anyway, what is it you wanted?”

“You and Lan Zhan. How did you do it?”

“I don’t really like to kiss and tell—”

Wei Ying gritted his teeth. Then why did you open your mouth to begin with? “I don’t want to know what you did with one another. I want to know how you got there. You brought him a cider?”

“Yeah, I mean…” Li Wenfang sighed, aggrieved. “He looked kind of lonely, you know? Good-looking men like him shouldn’t just stand in a corner all alone, you know?”

Lonely. Lan Zhan looked lonely. Was that actually true or…? No way. Lan Zhan wasn’t lonely; he prized his solitude way too much for that.

Right?

“Anyway, I asked around and everyone was really intimidated by the thought of approaching him, so I thought, well, if no one else was going to take a chance, then I would. So I grabbed a cider because it seemed more interesting than beer and the wine there was shit and asked him if he’d like to get out of there. I found out later that it’s just with you all he’s so standoffish. Probably because you’re all too scared to ever actually do anything with such a perfect specimen of humanity, but that’s your problem, isn’t it?”

Wei Ying could have wept. This guy put in basically zero effort with Lan Zhan and still roped him in. There wasn’t a single way in hell Wei Ying could do that to Lan Zhan. Even if it was a one-time thing, he couldn’t just walk up to Lan Zhan and ask him if he wanted to fuck. No way. Lan Zhan deserved better than that.

Li Wenfang wasn’t wrong though: Lan Zhan was perfect.

“And?” Wei Ying asked, somehow hopeful for a silver bullet anyway.

“And he said, no. Not that night anyway, but if I wanted to meet at a restaurant the following Wednesday, he’d be amenable. Honestly, I don’t know why you’re all so weird over there. He’s just a human being. You’re not going to die if you approach him.”

Ha, he could speak for himself. Wei Ying was certain he’d die of shame all at once if he did that and got turned down. He didn’t have much of it, shame, but the bit he did, well. He could see wasting it all on this. Then he thought about it and decided he could safely say it would be worth it, too. At this point, he was well on the way to screwing up their relationship even without doing anything, so what was the worst that could happen if they did or if Lan Zhan said no? At least he wouldn’t be stuck in a holding pattern any longer. Lan Zhan would be incredibly kind in letting him down and then Wei Ying would be awkward about it and then, knowing finally that all hope was lost, he’d be free and they could go back to the way things were before.

And if by some miracle Lan Zhan agreed, Wei Ying could have one pleasant memory of knowing what it felt like to be with Lan Zhan.

“Hey, you’re friends with him, right?” Li Wenfang asked. “Like, actual friends?”

That didn’t feel like an accurate or satisfying summation of the relationship they shared, both more and less than the professional camaraderie and respect between them. Lan Zhan was legitimately Wei Ying’s favorite person, but he couldn’t exactly say that, could he? Besides, they occupied a small world where relationships blurred and mutated frequently. Friend was the most flexible, he supposed. “Yeah, I guess we are.”

“Find out if he does keep a spreadsheet, huh? A few of the guys and I keep going back and forth on it.”

The plastic case surrounding Wei Ying’s phone creaked in his suddenly tight grip. “I sure won’t! And tell ‘the guys’ to mind their business.”

“Oh, sure. It’s okay when you pry, but when I do it—”

“I don’t care. Just do what I say.” After this conversation, he’d never again snoop on Lan Zhan’s life this way. Now that he had an answer that wasn’t an answer, he had no reason to do so. It didn’t entirely stop him from feeling guilty though.

Ending the call, Wei Ying scrubbed his hand over his face. It was barely afternoon and he felt like he needed a drink. Or ten drinks. Anything that would make him forget the last few weeks because there’d been a plan brewing in the back of his mind since last night and it was a terrible plan and he absolutely knew better, but he was going to do something anyway because he could read the writing on the wall. He might as well pull this pin himself. Controlled detonation and all that shit. If it blows up, then it’ll at least blow up on his terms and no one else’s.

The plan, as he conceived of it, was to not only convince Lan Zhan to have sex with him, but for Lan Zhan to have such good sex with him that it would make up for the fact that Wei Ying was going to be a completely embarrassing mess about the whole thing. He was going to show Lan Zhan the best time possible. There was, perhaps, only one problem with this idea: Wei Ying wasn’t exactly an expert at this shit. But he was imaginative and he’d be very enthusiastic and unlike the rest of these assholes out there using Lan Zhan for a good time, Wei Ying wanted Lan Zhan to have a good time, too.

So. A one-time event and a nice memory and Wei Ying working this bullshit out of his system so he can go back to not really giving a shit about any of it. Wei Ying goes back to being productive. Lan Zhan can keep casually doing what he wants to do with anyone he wants to. Everyone comes out of it happy. Wins all around.

If he lingered a little too much on the thought of Lan Zhan being lonely, that was his own business, and he had a plan there, too, on the off-chance it was accurate: he was going to do the wooing first. He’d take Lan Zhan out to dinner—or wherever, he hadn’t settled the details yet. He’d pay attention to Lan Zhan and spoil Lan Zhan and do all the things that these random assholes couldn’t because he, unlike them, knew Lan Zhan about as well as Lan Zhan let anyone know him.

The one thing he figured out as he pondered the possibilities was that he’d have to spend more time with Lan Zhan first and it was at that point that he realized he really didn’t spend that much time with Lan Zhan, not when most of the time he was at Burial Mounds or out at a bar with friends or at Jiang Cheng’s, or going back home with Jiang Cheng to duck whatever conversation Madam Yu wanted to have this time about the fact that he was a reprobate compared to Jin Zixuan, who managed to make art that sold for a good deal more money than Wei Ying’s sold for, like it wasn’t easier when he already knew every rich fuck on the planet who wanted to suck up to Daddy Guangshan and bought his shitty work with that goal in mind.

It was a startling discovery to be honest. Lan Zhan loomed so large in his life that it seemed like he was constantly there, front and center, but it just wasn’t so. Wei Ying invaded his apartment a few times a week—and even then Lan Zhan himself only showed up sometimes—and they met when he had a piece to be hustled into the arms of the waiting masses with taste enough to give Wei Ying a second look and sometimes they ended up at gallery openings together, but it wasn’t enough. Strung together, it wasn’t anywhere near enough for Wei Ying. How had he gotten by for so long with so little?

Well, that was going to have to change, wasn’t it? And Lan Zhan had landed him the perfect opportunity by asking him to paint his walls for him. There could be no more organic reason for Wei Ying to show up more often than needing to scope out his room, right? It wasn’t weird.

(Okay, it was a little weird maybe.)

But it wouldn’t be enough just to spend time at Lan Zhan’s condo. If that was all it took, they’d have fucked a long time ago, but he could maybe, possibly pay a little more attention to Lan Zhan while he was there. Make the most of it.

Which was how he found himself sitting on the floor in Lan Zhan’s living room the very next day, sketchbook in hand as he leaned against the couch where Lan Zhan was sitting properly while tapping away at his laptop. Turpentine had herself precariously balanced on Wei Ying’s shin, the little menace, and he didn’t dare move it for fear of frightening her. It was good. Like the world approved, too, because when he’d asked earlier, it all fell into place between the span of one message and the next.

what are you doing today, lan zhan, he’d asked.

I’m home. Would you like to stop by, Lan Zhan had replied.

Perfect.

There was one upside to The Plan that he hadn’t anticipated before, which was the fact that it was a little easier to focus on something other than his newly reawakened libido now that it believed it had a chance in hell of getting what it wanted. A goal allowed him to stay the worst of his impulses, which was helpful because he needed to study Lan Zhan, didn’t he, to figure out how best to convince him that Wei Ying was worth his time.

He tugged one earbud out, taking inspiration from it, and asked, “Lan Zhan, what sort of music do you like?”

Lan Zhan’s attention shifted, as slow and as shattering and as inevitable as the brush of tectonic plates against one another, to Wei Ying. “Music?”

“Yeah!” He wasn’t able to shift toward Lan Zhan without disturbing Turpentine, so he picked her up and deposited her on the couch cushion. Twisting so he could pillow his head on his arm, he smiled. “You know, what you listen to when nobody’s around to judge you. It can’t all be traditional guqin, can it?”

Lan Zhan blinked and for a long moment, he didn’t move until finally he did, holding out his hand. “Your phone, please.”

After a few taps, Lan Zhan pointed to his own ear and Wei Ying replaced his earbud as commanded. It was still instrumental, the song Lan Zhan played for him, but it was kind of sexy, too, full of yearning and melancholic guitars, maybe a string instrument or two, layered over the thick twanging of a bass. Whatever the song was, it spoke of longing, and Wei Ying hadn’t heard anything like it outside of a film soundtrack or two.

It wasn’t at all what Wei Ying might have expected, but he was entranced by it anyway.

It made him want more, made him want to plunder Lan Zhan’s musical library for everything, find something he could hang onto and maybe do something with, names, videos, tour dates. Would he want to see them perform, whoever this was, or an artist who was similar? Did acts like this even throw concerts? Surely they must.

Was that even something Lan Zhan might want to do?

Wei Ying was going to find out.

For the first time in a long while, Wei Ying felt like he didn’t know anything about art and that was as novel as it was exhilarating, like discovering an entire new planet when you felt like you’d seen everything.

Wei Ying couldn’t stop listening to it and finally grabbed his phone back so he could find out who was responsible for this and whether there was more of it. Lan Zhan watched him, perplexed, but too much of Wei Ying’s attention remained on his phone screen as he saved the song, stuck it on repeat, and began poking around the artist’s page. h i d d e n f r a g r a n c e, they were called, written out in English, with no biographical information to speak of or any indication than they did anything besides release tracks online.

Wei Ying wasn’t going to be let down by the lack of further information. It was enough just to enjoy this for the moment, knowing it was a piece of Lan Zhan that Lan Zhan had shared willingly. He didn’t immediately enthuse the way someone else might have, but Wei Ying knew how deeply Lan Zhan must have cared anyway to have so quickly offered it up.

“Thank you for showing this to me, Lan Zhan,” he said, keeping the earbud in place, though he lowered the volume so he could still talk to Lan Zhan when and as he wanted to.

Lan Zhan blinked again and then nodded. The corner of his mouth pulled up in what might have been pleasure and Wei Ying determined then and there that though he was squirreling away the information for later, he was determined to make use of it regardless of what else happened between them. It had to be useful at some point.

Wei Ying got back to work and Turpentine nudged her way over to Wei Ying’s shoulder, balancing her front paws precariously on it and then trembled until Wei Ying took secure hold of her and placed her more safely in his lap.

“This is nice, isn’t it?” Wei Ying asked. It was, perhaps, a shameless plea for acknowledgment that he wasn’t alone in this, but he would take what he could get, especially since the words were already out of his mouth.

“It is,” Lan Zhan agreed and though the words were plain spoken, Wei Ying knew he could treat them as the most sincere of truths.

That warmed him more than anything else in the world might have done. He turned again toward Lan Zhan, keeping a careful, secure hold on Turpentine all the while. “When are you going to let me paint you?”

“When I see the relevance of doing so.”

“Relevance? Is there any need for relevancy when a painter is struck by his muse?” Okay, maybe laying it on a bit thick there—it was hard to get back in the habit after locking himself down over the last few weeks—but instead of earning himself a scornful look, Lan Zhan merely seemed to relax back into the couch a little, just a small dip of his spine against the cushion. Then, a flash of inspiration: “What if I said I wanted to paint you for your commission? You said I could do anything.”

Lan Zhan’s lips thinned. “Then I would have to submit.”

A heady, overwhelming heat unfurled inside of him. Submit. Well. Uh. Lan Zhan certainly didn’t have to do that. “Lan Zhan, you know I’m not going to make you suffer through hanging a portrait of yourself in your house.”

“Mn.”

“One day you’re going to let me,” Wei Ying warned. And then maybe we’ll both be sorry.

“Perhaps,” Lan Zhan agreed steadily.

“Argh, Lan Zhan. You’re cruel. Depriving a man of his source of creativity this way. What will I do without it?”

Lan Zhan stretched forward slightly, extending his arm to grab the corner of Wei Ying’s sketchbook and tilt it slightly so he could better see the page. His cheek ended up surprisingly close to Wei Ying’s and his slow, even inhalations and exhalations were just barely audible. Now it was Wei Ying who threatened to begin trembling at the proximity, every inch of him yearning to press their mouths together.

“You seem to be doing fine,” Lan Zhan said, oblivious to Wei Ying’s turmoil as he inspected Wei Ying’s scribblings. ‘Doing fine’ was probably a generous estimation of the work he was accomplishing here, mostly gestural crap of Turpentine to occupy his hands, but work wasn’t really the point of this afternoon, so he was willing to go with it, especially when he’d already succeeded so well.

And then Lan Zhan let go of the sketchbook and his hand brushed against Wei Ying’s wrist so carelessly that he couldn’t have meant it purposefully, but Wei Ying reeled from the contact anyway, biting back a gasp as a certain part of him came fully to attention despite all evidence that Wei Ying was being just being reactive over nothing.

At least he had the sketchbook to hide the evidence, but he shifted out from beneath Turpentine, setting her on the floor and lightly prodding her to go make mischief elsewhere.

This was stupid; he was stupid and he worried that not only would his body go back to its stupidest, hormonal point, so would the rest of him, finding ways to meanly tease Lan Zhan in ways that were hurtful rather than charming because back then Wei Ying didn’t understand Lan Zhan and Lan Zhan didn’t understand him and so they irritated one another sometimes as they drew close to one another despite that fact.

No, no. He was determined no matter how much of a fool he made of himself that he wouldn’t go back to that, not under any circumstance, even if it was hard. Lan Zhan deserved better and Wei Ying liked where their relationship had settled. It wasn’t, he was realizing, everything he might have wanted with Lan Zhan, but it was still perfect just as it was.

Even if Lan Zhan never let him paint or draw him.

He still found himself needing… needing to show Lan Zhan that he was cared for. Even if only once. Even if it never actually became physical. That, he suddenly realized, a bolt lighting up the dark, was what the plan had to mean.

It was not, he realized, about satisfying an urge, this stupid thing he wanted to do. With Lan Zhan’s favorite music still playing, he promised that for at least one night, Lan Zhan wouldn’t be lonely, not if Wei Ying had his way.

Somehow, that was even scarier than thinking it had only been about sex.

Once he returned to Burial Mounds, he found himself restless, wandering through the studio space, his room, the kitchens, and back again until he finally dragged himself to the common area to nurse a cup of liquor. His awareness still hummed in time with his thoughts of Lan Zhan, always Lan Zhan, it seemed, this time the scent of him, the warmth of his body, the timbre of his voice. Even now the song that Lan Zhan had shared with him played itself back in his mind, long after he’d tucked his phone away.

“Oh, good,” he heard from behind him, Wen Qing’s dry, charming voice, just before she walked forward to drop onto the couch in front of him. He looked up from where he was sprawled half across the coffee table, legs awkwardly stretched beneath, and was faced with an equally dry expression. “It’s never too early to break out the good shit, huh?”

It was only then that he realized he’d grabbed the dusty bottle of Emperor’s Smile that Lan Zhan had given to him a few years back. Oh. No wonder it was so nice. He took another sip. “It’s not that early.”

Wen Qing climbed back to her seat, strode over to the kitchen area, retrieved another cup from the cupboard and grabbed the bottle of wine she favored, safe and secure even in plain sight and sat back down.

He pushed the elegant bottle across the table. “I’ll share with you.”

“I wouldn’t dare presume to drink your precious Emperor’s Smile, Wei Ying, not when your equally precious Lan Zhan gave it to you.”

Wei Ying opened his mouth to deny this scurrilous accusation and then closed it again until his stubbornness got the better of him and he swiped up her cup before she could pour the wine. There was no argument that could be made that Lan Zhan wasn’t precious; she wouldn’t believe him. “All the more reason I should share. He’d want me to.”

Wen Qing’s eyebrow climbed her forehead. “I think his primary concern is your happiness, not whether you share or not. It’s not that he’s unkind, but he’s never been particularly generous when it comes to you.”

Wei Ying really should be used to opening his mouth only to close it because the denial, correct though it would have been, couldn’t form on his tongue.

“You’re ridiculous,” was what he finally settled on, feeling not unlike Lan Zhan in the moment.

“Yeah? So what’s the problem then? You’re looking a little melancholy around the edges.” She reached out to brush his bangs from his face. Dried flakes of clay clung to the back of her hand and there was a nick across her knuckle, probably from one of the instruments of torture she used while sculpting. “Did you hurt your own feelings again?”

Pouting, Wei Ying crossed his arms and pillowed his chin on them. “I don’t have feelings.”

Wen Qing snorted and then took a sip of the Emperor’s Smile, humming in pleasure. “This really is exceptionally good. Too bad Qingyang wasn’t here. She’d love it. I’m surprised nobody’s filched it yet.”

“You know I keep all my booze in my room, Wen-jie, and that Mianmian is as welcome to it as you are.” He considered the bottle, turning it around and around on the table, touching the luxuriously printed label, all understated fanciness, carefully designed and printed. He really had thought he’d grabbed something else. Though Suzhou wasn’t so very far away, he supposed, Lan Zhan rarely went back there and Emperor’s Smile was only this perfect when Lan Zhan brought it to him. Another bottle wouldn’t be the same, even if he did get off his ass and get it himself. “Well, all the good stuff anyway.”

He still contributed to the communal supplies and he sometimes offered up a decent bottle when there was something worth celebrating within the group, but he wasn’t about to just hand over anything for no good reason other than because it was another night that someone wanted to get nice and toasted.

The Emperor’s Smile though. Never that. That remained untouched even by Wei Ying. Oh, well. This was a special occasion, wasn’t it?

“Wouldn’t necessarily stop them though.”

“It would if I had a lock on the drawer. Which I do.” Of course, it didn’t actually work, but so far it had been enough to dissuade anyone who might have wandered past in search of libations. He wasn’t quite committed enough to actually lock up his room, not when this place was built to be communal. “But you’re more than welcome to pilfer whatever you like from my humble stores.”

“Uh huh. And is that what you want to talk about? Locks on drawers and pilfering gifts from the heart?”

“I don’t want to talk about anything, Wen-jie. You’re the one who invited herself over here and started asking questions.”

Wen Qing raised her cup in acknowledgment and then brought it to her lips, finishing off what was left of it if the morose expression that crossed her face as she looked inside was a good indication. “So I did,” she said. “Doesn’t mean you don’t need to talk about it though.”

He would rather stab himself in the eye than discuss this, but Wen Qing had this funny way of looking at you that made you realize it was pointless to deny anything because she could see all the way through you anyway.

Did he really want to? No. Was Wen Qing right? Maybe. And out of their entire group, she was the most reasonable one to reach out to, and the most discreet. He didn’t dare say anything about Lan Zhan’s proclivities, but he could say something about his own feelings maybe. She might even have an idea of what to do about it.

He spun his cup by the rim.

“I might have heard some things that put some other things in a different light,” Wei Ying said, as much context as he was willing to give. “The… crush… I may have developed is…” Out of control? Pathetic? Monumentally stupid? “I’ve decided I want to do something about it.”

At least Wei Ying wasn’t the only one suffering from a jaw that fell open at random, because suddenly Wen Qing was adopting Wei Ying’s new signature expression. And then it transformed into a flashy, brilliant grin and she said, “That’s amazing. Well done,” which wasn’t at all what Wei Ying was expecting to hear and only half as sarcastic as it could have been.

“You—what?”

“Yeah, that’s… Wei Ying, I’m surprised. Good for you for putting yourself out there finally.”

Okay, was Wen Qing replaced by a pod person when he wasn’t looking, what the fuck?

“Who knows how much longer Lan Zhan was going to keep waiting around for you to figure it out?” She leaned forward, planting her elbows on the table and lacing her fingers together. Though she didn’t ask for it, he could tell she wanted a few more details.

“What? Who said anything about Lan Zhan?” And the last time he checked, Lan Zhan wasn’t waiting for anyone, least of all Wei Ying.

Wen Qing’s features froze and then there was a flare of anger tinged with worry in her eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding me, Wei Ying. Who are you talking about then? If it’s not—”

One, if she was going to worry about anyone, she should be worried about Wei Ying, because who else could it be except Lan Zhan? Two, let him have a little dignity so he could pretend like it was within the realm of possibility that it might be someone more attainable!

“Fine, fine. It’s Lan Zhan! I just… don’t know what to do or how to even… I’ve flirted with him for so long that he can’t possibly take it seriously at this point and everything we both like is kind of related to work so that feels kind of boring and—” And I found out he likes really pretty music when no one is looking and I don’t know what to do with that or with any of this, really. “And I don’t even know if he’d… be interested in anything.”

Wen Qing’s eyes widened, probably in response to Wei Ying’s suddenly unhinged desperation because now that the words were out, he couldn’t stop them.

“And even if he was interested. What if I messed it up and…?” Oh, great. Now he was going to talk himself out of it. Abort. Fucking a-b-o-r-t. “Ah ha, anyway. That’s… it. I guess.”

He swallowed, throat suddenly parched, and couldn’t look at her any longer. All he’d been doing was minding his own business, too. It didn’t have anything to do with her. She didn’t have to look at him like this. “What?” he finally snapped, uncomfortable under the heavy scrutiny of her gaze. “Seriously, what?”

“You’re really dumb,” she answered. “I’m only just realizing it, I think.” Pinching the bridge of her nose, she inhaled. “Have you, I don’t know, considered just asking the poor man out? Lan Zhan’s always been a guy who prizes straightforwardness in others. Why shouldn’t it be the same here?”

“Isn’t that a little shameless?” He fidgeted the cup a few more times and then poured more into it and then did the same for Wen Qing. He now wished Mianmian was here, too. Then Wen Qing would have someone to distract herself with. In fact, Mianmian might even take his side; she took such a laissez-faire approach to other people’s lives that she might have just told Wen Qing to leave it.

“As opposed to whatever Rube Goldberg machine of an idea you were planning on enacting instead?” She leaned forward far enough to stab him in the shoulder. “You have always been shameless with him and he has never, ever taken a stand against it. Being a grownup for once might actually catch him by surprise.”

“But, Wen-jie, it’s boring,” he said again, pouting once more, knowing in his heart it was an excuse. “He deserves better than that.”

“He deserves to know you care about him, how about that?”

Okay, now this was just going too far. Who was bringing caring into this? Wei Ying sure wasn’t. His only goal here was making sure he had one experience in his life that was about him since everyone else seemed to think he was just a one-stop fuck shop to be gossiped about. Wen Qing was thinking way, way too much about this. And if something like guilt or longing or fear squirmed in his gut at her words, nobody had to know about it, certainly not her. She seemed to be under the mistaken assumption that Wei Ying doing something meant some kind of long-term happily ever after. The best he could hope for, the only thing he wanted, was a return to the status quo before Wei Ying ruined it and the knowledge that he’d gotten to do something for Lan Zhan that nobody else could. “Whatever. If you’re not going to help, then this conversation can be over. I didn’t like it anyway.”

“Wei Ying, don’t be stupid, okay? It’ll be fine, I’m sure of it. This really is a good thing, even if you’re nervous.” She said this with so much confidence that Wei Ying almost believed her. “I… might be proud of you.”

After leaving Lan Zhan’s, he’d shot of a text to Nie Huaisang about h i d d e n f r a g r a n c e, but he’d been rather cryptic in his response, merely saying he’d see what he could do about a show, which, uh, wasn’t quite what he’d meant, but it was better to let whatever Nie Huaisang wanted to do play out as it would.

He’d just have to struggle on in the meantime, keep picking away at Lan Zhan’s exterior until he found an idea worthy of presentation. He just had to find an excuse to hang around with Lan Zhan again.

“Hey, is he going to any exhibitions lately that I don’t know about? Any openings or…?”

“How the hell would I know that, Wei Ying? Do I look like his personal assistant?”

“No, but you know I don’t pay attention to your side of things unless it’s you exhibiting. I thought maybe…”

“That’s because you’re a heathen with no taste.” Wen Qing shook her head and finished off her drink, pushed herself to her feet, and went to the sink to rinse out her cup and put it back in the cupboard. “But I haven’t heard that he’d be attending any showings. Why don’t you just ask him?”

Wei Ying scoffed. “Next you’ll be telling me again to just ask him out.”

She leveled a flat glare at him. He thought he was funny anyway.

“Maybe I’ll ask Lan Huan instead. He ought to know. He knows everything.”

As Wen Qing passed, she flicked Wei Ying’s ear, sending a jolt of pain down the side of his head and neck. “Lan Huan’s got better things to do than your dirty work. Besides, don’t you think he’ll tell his brother that you’re sniffing around trying to find out where he plans to be?”

Ugh. Wen Qing really did just want to ruin his dreams. “Fine! If you’re going to force me to be an adult about it, I will.” Reaching for his phone, he made a show of pulling up WeChat. Out loud, he said for Wen Qing’s benefit, “What. Are. You. Doing. Tomor—” No, too soon. “On. Wed—” Fuck. Couldn’t pick a Wednesday, could he? “Thursday. Lan. Zhan?”

As soon as the message was sent, he wanted to take it back, and even Wen Qing patting him on the shoulder and saying, “Good job, dummy,” wasn’t enough to ease the sudden tension locking him up from the inside out.

Before Wen Qing got more than a few meters away, Wei Ying’s phone was already pinging with a response and instead of leaving, she darted back in, waiting for the result. He might not have expected a reply so soon. A stupid panic response kept him from picking up his phone, adrenaline coursing through him. What if Lan Zhan took it the wrong way? What if he thought this was the way Wei Ying was going to ask him out and Wei Ying had to live with that? Wei Ying could do better.

“Wei Ying, just look at it already.”

Inhaling, he tore off the metaphorical bandage and risked a look. Disappointment and relief did battle inside of him, neither coming out the victor. “An art lecture?” A lecture was the last place on the planet Wei Ying would naturally fit into. It would be weird for him to go to one. He swore off going to those after university unless he really couldn’t help it. “This was a terrible idea.”

It was a terrible idea not least of all because Wei Ying would be bored out of his mind there, too, and Lan Zhan would definitely have questions about why he was suddenly showing up, and then Lan Zhan sent a link to the full details and it wasn’t just any art lecture, no. It was his own uncle doing the lecture, swooping in from Suzhou to ruin Wei Ying’s day apparently. Groaning, Wei Ying dragged his hand down his face. There wasn’t a damned way in hell that Wei Ying could show up at this thing and yet…

“Wei Ying?” Wen Qing asked.

“Lan Qiren is going to kill me,” Wei Ying said, holding up the phone to show her.

She grimaced, also a victim of Lan Qiren’s particular brand of curmudgeonly dedication to traditional art, while hating the way both she and Wei Ying approached it. At this point, one or the other of them could perfectly replicate any masterpiece he might throw their way and he’d still consider it the worst piece of garbage on the planet. It was to Lan Zhan and his brother’s credit that they, with the utmost respect and dignity, ignored him when it came to them and to a few others whom Lan Qiren disliked for purely aesthetic reasons and not because they, like Wei Ying, were nuisances to his nephews or, like Wen Qing, from a family he considered entirely crass and uncouth. Which, while true in some cases, was not in the slightest fair toward Wen Qing and Wen Ning’s branch of the family. “You’re actually going?”

“You’re the one who told me to do something!”

“Yeah, but…” She shrugged gracefully. There was doing something and there was crashing Lan Qiren’s lecture and one of those two things was more serious than the other. “I didn’t know you were quite this far gone on him. You sure you want to risk Lan Qiren’s wrath?”

“It’s a public lecture. He can’t make a scene if I don’t.”

Her look of disbelief spoke volumes. It was even odds on whether she distrusted Lan Qiren or Wei Ying more. One was as likely as the other to cause a ruckus.

“I’ll stay in the back. I just want to catch Lan Zhan to have food afterward or something.”

“You could just ask him that. ‘Hey, want to get food afterward?’”

That was a very good point that Wei Ying chose to ignore, not only because it felt weird to just throw an invitation out like that, but also because… because he wanted to surprise Lan Zhan and show him that he could be flexible and responsible. Going to the same venue Lan Qiren showed up at was a sacrifice, a gesture, and Wei Ying found himself wanting Lan Zhan to know he was willing to risk a bit of discomfort for Lan Zhan’s sake.

He didn’t precisely know why it was so important, but he knew that this was what lived in his heart all the same. He was determined now even against his better judgment.

“Lan Zhan wouldn’t have sent me the link if he didn’t want me to come,” Wei Ying insisted, even though that was probably a stretch, too. It was definitely a sign that Lan Zhan didn’t want him not to come, but he had no reason to take it as specific encouragement either. That was just wishful thinking.

“All right, well. Don’t come crying to me when Lan Qiren sees you and goes on a thirty minute tirade about the sanctity of ink or something.

“I’m not going to get into trouble, I promise.” He raised his hand, three fingers together to indicate the solemnity of his promise. “I’m trying to impress Lan Zhan, right? That means no fighting his uncle.”

“Also, don’t call me when the cops get called on you either,” she said, instead of giving him the benefit of the doubt. “Or if you end up in the hospital. Or when Lan Zhan cruelly rejects you for embarrassing him in front of his uncle.”

It was like she knew him or something.

“Wen-jie, you send a lot of mixed signals. Do you want me to put myself out there or do you want me to be a pathetic loser forever?”

“I…” Her gaze searched his face for something, Wei Ying wasn’t sure what, and seemed to find it. “Wei Ying, I’m just going to wish you luck now. You’re not a pathetic loser even if you don’t go on a date with Lan Zhan.”

And with that, she really was gone and Wei Ying was left to process the fact that Wen Qing didn’t think he was a pathetic loser and then contemplate his own eventual demise at the hands of Lan Qiren once he finds out Wei Ying was trying to take his nephew on a date.

So maybe he was trying to do a little too right by Lan Zhan, he thought as he fidgeted his way through the line at their—the, the, not their—tea shop, oddly busy for this time of day because as it turned out Wen Qing’s luck and well-wishes were worth shit in the end. He was close enough to the front of the line that it seemed stupid to leave it now, even though he was running late and could hear Lan Zhan in the back of his mind scolding him about sunk-cost fallacies.

This, he supposed, was what he got for trying to be nice: the world slapping him in the mouth and telling him that he couldn’t do it, not without some form of recompense. Today, he could apparently be on time or thoughtful, except to Lan Zhan’s thinking, on time was thoughtful and—

“Can I take your order?” It was a new face that greeted him at the counter, which perhaps explained why it was so slow, and Wei Ying found he couldn’t begrudge a person who was new. Though he was intending to put in his own request as well as Lan Zhan’s, he decided to forgo his own since what he wanted today was a little complicated and nothing easier or quicker sounded good and he wanted to cut this poor kid some slack.

Lan Zhan, though, always ordered the same thing when he came. “Small white, house blend.” It was the only blend he appreciated, otherwise going for pure strains when he purchased his own tea leaves. The kid smiled in relief as he took the travel mug Wei Ying handed over and nodded, quickly handing back the mug and taking Wei Ying’s payment in turn.

Easy and quick.

One goal accomplished, he booked it to the gallery where Lan Qiren’s lecture would take place. It was on the other side of town, of course, and annoying to get to via public transportation, so Wei Ying sucked it up and ordered a cab.

By the time he got there, people were still milling around outside, chatting with one another as they waited for the lecture to start in, hah, eight minutes. Most of them were people he didn’t recognize, which made sense, but there were a few he did, most surprisingly of all: Nie Huaisang. But he spotted Lan Zhan stationed toward the back of the gallery space, alone, while he browsed his phone and he was heading over there instead when Nie Huaisang caught him and spun him around, stopping him from reaching his goal. He could have throttled Nie Huaisang. He was so close.

“You’re in luck, Wei-xiong,” Nie Huaisang said, puffed up and pleased with himself. Using his closed fan, he tapped Wei Ying in the chest. “A little bird might have informed me that h i d d e n f r a g r a n c e will be putting on a surprise performance at Ancestral Tomb.”

Wei Ying’s heart pounded in his chest. There was no way he could be that lucky, could he? “Seriously?”

“Mmhmm. First and only time, too. Perhaps never to be repeated again.”

“Who even is it? I couldn’t find anything about them.”

Nie Huaisang smiled, guileless, which meant he knew something that Wei Ying didn’t. Probably exactly who it was, since they would have had to sign a contract to perform at Ancestral Tomb, which was, at this point, Nie Huaisang’s baby that he sometimes forgot about when something else struck his fancy. “That I’m afraid I cannot tell you. Some of us enjoy the mystique and drama of anonymity,” Nie Huaisang said, “but I will say if you showed up with a plus one next Wednesday, you’ll find your name on a very exclusive guest list.”

Wei Ying’s stomach dropped. Wednesday. That was—could he do that? Wednesdays were sacrosanct for Lan Zhan, weren’t they?

His gaze caught on Lan Zhan, who was still fully engrossed in his phone. He supposed… he supposed he’d have to take the chance.

“Thanks for letting me know, Huaisang. I guess I really am lucky.”

“I suppose you are,” Nie Huaisang agreed, cheerful.

After offering a farewell and a promise they’d catch up soon, he resumed his original course. Slipping between the various groups of people waiting for the lecture room to open, he ducked his head. It wasn’t that he expected to be recognized by anyone else and pulled aside, but it wasn’t outside of the realm of possibility. With only five minutes to spare now—Lan Qiren was always punctual—he needed to see Lan Zhan, but didn’t dare shout out to get his attention. Lan Qiren might be lurking anywhere and hear him.

He managed to, very quietly, reach Lan Zhan’s side without alerting him or anyone else. In a whisper, he said, “Lan Zhan!”

Lan Zhan didn’t startle, not at the noise at least, and only jumped a little once he saw who it was who’d approached. “Wei Ying? What are you—”

“I’d never give up a chance to see one of Lan Qiren’s lectures, Lan Zhan! It’s such an excellent opportunity to learn.” If he was only hear to learn yet another way that one person could be so stuffily wrong about art, entirely counter to Lan Qiren’s intentions, that was entirely his business. As Lan Zhan pocketed his phone, Wei Ying thrust the mug into his hand. “For you.”

Lan Zhan stared down at the thing like he didn’t quite know what to do with it.

“The tea you like,” Wei Ying explained. “It was on the way, so…”

“Ah.” His fingers tightened a little on the mug, knuckles paling slightly. “Thank you.” And then he gave Wei Ying one of those tiny, awkward smiles of his and Wei Ying’s heart threatened to give out right then and there.

The sound of a bell donging drew Wei Ying back to the mortifying business at hand as others filtered toward the now open pair of doors near where Lan Zhan had stationed himself.

“Would you like to sit with me?” Lan Zhan asked, polite as ever.

“Ah ha, I don’t want to be a disturbance. I was just going to find a spot in the back.”

“Then I will sit with you there.”

“No, that’s—” But that was perfect. He’d get to sit with Lan Zhan and keep his distance from Lan Qiren. “I don’t want to be a bother. And your uncle will surely…”

“If he takes issue with you when you have done nothing to disrupt him, that is his problem to work through, not yours.”

It was nice of Lan Zhan to presuppose Wei Ying wouldn’t disrupt him.

“But you know he doesn’t like it when you hang around with me,” Wei Ying said. He really, well, he hadn’t truly thought this part of it through, but he was both warmed and worried that Lan Zhan would take this risk just to sit with him. At the very least, he’d most likely end up scolded at one of his semi-regular family dinners.

“That is equally his problem.”

Lan Zhan… There was a time when Lan Qiren’s opinions loomed large in Lan Zhan’s calculus, the way he weighed how and when to act or behave. It felt more selfish then to have come at all, forcing Lan Zhan to choose between them and awkwardly realizing that Lan Zhan was willing to choose him.

No wonder he never messed around unless his partner was from out of town. It was so much less complicated. Smart move on Lan Zhan’s part.

“Wei Ying?” Lan Zhan asked, gentle. “Shall we?”

“Oh, um…” The urge to bolt in the other direction or fake an emergency on his phone was strong. “If you’re sure.”

“I am.”

He really should have thought this all through because now he was stuck in a stuffy room where he’d be sitting next to Lan Zhan for exactly one hour because Lan Qiren was that precise, no time left for questions or debate because that was, in his own mind, a sucker’s game apparently and the seats were really, really cramped and did he mention he was sitting right next to Lan Zhan?

It was hell! Torture! The very worst thing he could have possibly done to himself! And Lan Qiren was a boring, droning mess and he didn’t dare look at his phone for fear of choking on his embarrassment when Lan Zhan managed to look so composed and attentive, one hand curled lightly over his knee while the other held a pen and kept a notebook perched on his thigh, pinned in place by his wrist. He only occasionally stopped to note something down, his penmanship elegant, of course, and shit—

Wei Ying was ogling Lan Zhan’s lap and who knew how long he’d been doing it for? As Wei Ying fidgeted slightly and looked away, he saw in his peripheral vision as Lan Zhan briefly looked his way.

Wei Ying might have played himself.

Occasionally, Lan Zhan took a sip of the tea Wei Ying brought.

At least while Lan Qiren was talking, he didn’t have to speak to Lan Zhan. That was about the only good thing in this whole mess: this situation forced him to be discreet about his suffering.

As much as Wei Ying liked to run his mouth, sometimes he was glad when he was constrained by circumstances to avoid doing exactly that. This was perhaps the best behaved he’d ever been during such a thing.

The rest of the lecture went entirely over his head while he sat there and tried to come up with a good explanation for his… everything. But by the time it was over, he thought maybe he’d regained his cool and as long as Wei Ying didn’t do anything else stupid, he’d be okay. He hoped.

Please, please don’t let anyone ask him his thoughts on whatever dusty take Lan Qiren had pulled out of his ass. He couldn’t even say what the lecture was about, not even the name of it, not unless he pulled up the link Lan Zhan sent to him.

As the others streamed out of the room, a few were excitedly discussing it, but a lot of people seemed to be in a stupor, like Lan Qiren was the best sleep aid on the market. Wei Ying wasn’t above wishing he was the one caught in an intellectual stupor, content to glide through the gallery with an empty, bored head, but he was now way too keyed up just from proximity to Lan Zhan and was barely keeping himself from vibrating out of his skin. So much for regaining his cool.

Lan Zhan didn’t do him the discourtesy of asking him what he thought.

But Wei Ying felt duty bound to be a decent companion and, though he shifted his weight back and forth awkwardly, asked, “What did you think?”

Lan Zhan’s attention honed in on Wei Ying’s face and there was a distantly concerned look on his face. “About?”

Wei Ying’s brows furrowed. “Your uncle’s lecture?”

“Oh.” His features cleared. “I’m sure it was informative enough.”

Wei Ying almost laughed in response. If he didn’t know any better… “Lan Zhan, were you even paying attention?”

“He will not have said anything I haven’t heard before,” he answered, diplomatically neutral. There was no way he was as disdainful of his own family as Wei Ying might have been in his less cordial moments, but it was still a delight to witness Lan Zhan behaving so cavalierly. Ah, Lan Zhan. Always so much fun when Wei Ying least expected it.

“What was so interesting to you instead?” Wei Ying dared to ask, feeling Lan Zhan’s pain even if the sources of their distraction were probably different.

Instead of answering, Lan Zhan scanned the crowd of people still chattering away in the gallery. These people sure did seem to have a lot to talk about. Then, he returned his attention to Wei Ying. “I’m helping broker a deal between Nie Huaisang and the Central Art Terminal to release some of his collection to them for a special exhibition. I was… pondering that.”

Wow. It was a wonder Lan Zhan wasn’t in the fetal position on the floor with a job that difficult to accomplish. Next someone was going to ask him to genetically engineer pigs that could fly. “Okay, who hates you enough to ask you to do that? I thought he said he’d never let Central Art Terminal touch his stuff again. That isn’t even your sort of gig usually. What happened?”

“A favor to my brother.”

Wei Ying sucked on his teeth. “Huaisang’s gonna love that.”

“He doesn’t have to love it. He just has to agree to it.”

“And how has that worked out for you so far?”

Lan Zhan’s eyes narrowed and his attention caught on something over Wei Ying’s shoulder, but when he looked, too, there was nothing. It was an answer as eloquently given as it would have been if Lan Zhan had spoken out loud. It hasn’t, he didn’t have to say. Poor Lan Zhan.

This was something Wei Ying might be able to help with, though, shockingly enough.

“Why didn’t you ask me?” Wei Ying asked, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“I didn’t wish to burden you.”

“Who said it was a burden?”

“I did,” Lan Zhan answered, no doubt being stubborn just for the sake of it. “Just now.”

“Lan Zhaaan,” Wei Ying said, knowing full well that he was whining now. But it was so rare that Wei Ying was capable of doing something helpful for Lan Zhan that he was maybe a little eager for the chance. Probably Lan Zhan would succeed anyway; he could be very persuasive when he wanted to be. But Wei Ying could make it way less awkward for everyone involved if he was the one to persuade Nie Huaisang. “You just don’t want me to get into trouble with Huaisang.”

Lan Zhan looked away, distracted. “What you do with Nie Huaisang is your business.”

Ugh, fine. If Lan Zhan was going to be a stick in the mud about it, then Wei Ying wasn’t going to fight him. He could bash his head against the wishy-washy walls Nie Huaisang put up for others if he wanted to. “You’re no fun.”

“I never claimed to be,” he said, a little clipped. “Thank you for the tea, Wei Ying.” And then, almost before Wei Ying was ready for it, he began to walk away, pulling out of Wei Ying’s grasp when Wei Ying reached for his jacket. “I have some work left to complete this afternoon, only some of which has to do with discussing terms with Nie Huaisang,” he said, barely turning his head to give Wei Ying a good, last look at him. “I’ll see you another time?”

Now was the time to ask about next Wednesday. He drew in a deep, steadying breath. “Lan Zh—”

“Right. Good.” He began to walk away. Then he stopped and turned around again, not quite meeting Wei Ying’s eyes and thrust the empty travel mug into his hands. “I’m glad you came.”

“Lan Zhan?”

But Lan Zhan was already on the move again, veering toward Nie Huaisang with a determination bordering on the single-minded. Shaking his head in reluctant fondness, he waited until Lan Zhan was far enough away before he booked it for the door, realizing that the last thing he wanted was to get caught by Lan Qiren without Lan Zhan to act as a shield for him.

Was it a cowardly move? Yes. Did he regret it as soon as he hit the bright, broad street, free of any chance now of running into him? Not in the fucking slightest.

He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not, running away like this instead of marching back in there to ask. The less time he had to talk himself out of taking Lan Zhan to Ancestral Tomb, the better, but the more time he had to conceptualize the thought of taking Lan Zhan out on a Wednesday, the better his chances of getting it right. He wanted it to be right so badly.

Lan Zhan deserved for it to be right.

Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he strolled down the sidewalk, meandering with no destination in mind, failing to stop himself from imagining all the ways it could go so very wrong.

With the unexpected deadline Nie Huaisang’s dubiously good news put on him, Wei Ying went into overdrive trying to get everything together to show Lan Zhan exactly what he intended to do to his walls. That meant studies and samples and getting every last detail exactly right because this was for Lan Zhan’s home and that meant it mattered way more than any normal thing he might have done. He’d have to look at it for a good long time or until he got sick of it. Though it would be easy enough to launch the paintings from his balcony if he no longer wanted them, he couldn’t rid himself of the evidence of a mural without actual work.

And yeah, he knew what Lan Zhan would say now. Only an idiot wouldn’t be able to realize what Lan Zhan thought he wanted after he’d harped on so much about the free rein he wanted to give to Wei Ying, but that didn’t matter, because Wei Ying was going to have to live with it, too, and he didn’t want Lan Zhan to have any regrets on this score.

It had to be perfect in every particular.

If Lan Zhan regretted it, he didn’t know what he’d feel. Whatever it was, it wouldn’t be good. Just imagining the possibility left him cold with the sensation of a heavy, icy stone in his stomach. Like he’d already been rejected, there was the acid-burn of discomfort in his chest.

By the time he was done with the full-size mock-ups, he had four different panels half-rendered to give an idea of Wei Ying’s intentions and color choices. This didn’t include the twenty-odd thumbnails for the paintings, which he’d leave for later.

It was, perhaps, overkill, but by the time he messaged Lan Zhan to ask when he was free and set up a time to meet at his condo, Sunday at noon, he was above being awkwardly aware of that fact and saved all of his aggravation for the fact that, uh, this was it as far as the other thing went.

With a great deal more care than he usually showed his own brainstorming work, he rolled up each panel and placed them into plastic tubes and slung them over his shoulder and then placed his sketchbook in his bag, along with more of his supplies than he usually took with him to Lan Zhan’s. It felt fussy to do this, but if he needed to change anything on the fly, he’d rather have his brush and inks and paints with him than risk losing momentum than try to make due and lose it.

Lan Zhan was ready for him with tea when he got there, a little out of breath as he’d decided to rush up the stairs rather than wait for the elevator.

“Hey! Hi!” he said, dumping his stuff on Lan Zhan’s dining table, arriving with a few minutes to spare. Hands free now, he brushed his hair out of his eyes and smiled, retying his hair. As long as he pretended he wasn’t nervous, perhaps he wouldn’t be nervous.

“You didn’t have to rush over,” Lan Zhan said, remarkably at ease as he brought Wei Ying’s preferred mug over, a pale blue ceramic that reminded Wei Ying of tranquil cloud cover. It was the only such mug Lan Zhan owned and Wei Ying had no idea where he got it, because the only other ones he had were all uniformly white and unornamented.

“And miss out on my chance at seeing Turpentine sooner? I think not.” When he wrapped his hand around the mug, he didn’t realize Lan Zhan’s fingers were still there, too, warm from the heat of the tea. The accidental intimacy of it sent a shocked pulse of mingled arousal and surprise licking flames of heat up Wei Ying’s spine, setting his heart to racing all over again for entirely different reasons than his sprint up the stairs. He cradled the mug close and inhaled, hoping it would calm him. “Uh, thanks, Lan Zhan.”

This was so unfair. Why couldn’t Wei Ying be distant and jade-like, so perfect as to be untouchable—except that wasn’t true at all. Plenty of people got to touch Lan Zhan. Just not Wei Ying.

Well, that thought certainly put a damper on things.

He drank the tea with perfunctory indifference and then waited for Lan Zhan to finish, too, doing his best not to fidget and fuss as time dragged. Though he scanned the room for signs of Turpentine, he couldn’t see her in the hutch or outside of it just from a glance.

Too bad. She would have been a nice distraction.

As soon as Lan Zhan was done and had put the mugs away, Wei Ying scooped up the tubes and grabbed Lan Zhan by the elbow and felt around in his pocket for the mounting putty he’d purloined from Mo Xuanyu on his way out the door because Mo Xuanyu was there to be bullied and happened to be carrying some and Wei Ying didn’t have any and wasn’t certain that Lan Zhan would have any and he just didn’t want to risk it.

It used to be he would have left such things to fate and then let whatever consequences fall as they would, but Lan Zhan deserved better than Wei Ying’s most haphazard efforts.

If he thought about it, he’d probably realize that the entirety of his behavior these days was shaped around making sure he could meet Lan Zhan’s standards. He still goofed off more than Lan Zhan probably would have liked, but he could hold it together otherwise and at least be prepared.

All that preparation only fell apart for him once he stepped into Lan Zhan’s room first, acting as though he owned the place and had any right to just stomp inside, and realized how thoroughly arrogant that thought was.

Well, damage done. He was already here. If he swallowed his embarrassment at barging in, it couldn’t hurt him.

He tossed all but one of the tubes onto Lan Zhan’s bed and then walked over to the wall perpendicular to the bed and removed from it the large sheet of butcher paper he’d painted on. Tacking the sheet up, he backed away and then repeated the process across the rest of the wall and then on one corner of the wall where the bed was.

“And here we are!” Wei Ying said, gesturing extravagantly at the images. “I was thinking something sort of traditional…” He approached the first one and stroked his fingers over the one fully rendered image of a crane he’d taken a particular liking to, stark white and black with a bit of gold in its beak and feathers. “Except a bit sharper and more angular, but the colors would be soft and pale so it won’t be too overwhelming.” He flicked his finger against the crane and then pointed at an angular building nestled into a forested mountain on another, cloaked in clouds. “Barring a few points of interest.”

Lan Zhan, not a terribly loquacious person to begin with, said nothing as he pondered each panel in turn. As Wei Ying looked at them now, he was a little embarrassed about how little different they truly were. At the time, they’d seemed entirely distinct.

Apparently he had a vision and was determined to see it through.

He could only hope that Lan Zhan liked them.

But Lan Zhan kept not saying anything and not saying anything and Wei Ying’s stomach was twisting a bit by the time Lan Zhan finally looked at him with—with disappointment in his eyes and that was—

Fuck, that was not…

He wasn’t normally precious about his work. People could like it or dislike it as they wished. What was another person’s opinion to him when he believed in it always? But Lan Zhan wasn’t just anyone and having him express any hint of uncertainty in this… in him?

Well, cool. That was—he could live with that. Start from scratch, no big deal.

When he pulled the first from the wall, it tore a little along the top, the putty staying behind with a ragged triangle of paper mounted to it. The rest came away cleanly enough except Lan Zhan, just a little too late, put his hand out to hold it in place, half of it folding morosely over beneath his touch.

“You said anything, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said, too quiet. Lan Zhan was right there, though, so close, so he had to have heard. And even so, there couldn’t have been more distance between them than if they were physically on opposite sides of the world.

“I said to do what you wanted to do.”

“And this is what I wanted to do!” I got to immerse myself in the thought of making you happy for weeks. What else could I want? “Lan Zhan, if you want something else, I’ll do it, but you have to tell me. I can’t guess.” I feel like I don’t know anything about you anymore.

“I…” Lan Zhan’s throat worked as he swallowed. “I didn’t want to see myself here.”

That didn’t make sense. It couldn’t make sense, because what would Lan Zhan have wanted instead?

“Then… you wanted to see me here? Is that what you’re saying?” Frowning, he pushed the image back into place and moved the putty down a little, feeling really stupid about the rip now, like he’d thrown a tantrum and now he was stuck with cleaning it up. “You don’t see me in this?”

When he looked at it, all he could see was himself: himself and his stupid feelings for Lan Zhan, how much he wanted to please Lan Zhan with something he would like, that suited his tastes. He didn’t see anything wrong with that even though Lan Zhan apparently did.

What? Was he expecting something more along the lines of the triptych? He had asked for this after that, but how could he live with something like that on his walls? If it was the emotion he was looking for, as far as Wei Ying was concerned, this was no different. It carried the same feelings inside of it.

A fresh ache worked through his chest for all new reasons. Both because Lan Zhan couldn’t see what was right in front of him and because he was relieved that he apparently wasn’t as transparent to Lan Zhan as he felt.

Heat radiated off of Lan Zhan’s body, threatening to warm Wei Ying from the outside in like sunlight falling on his skin, a stupid, trite metaphor, but no less true for that fact. Lan Zhan was Wei Ying’s sun, the light that allowed him to grow and the way by which he marked his days.

“Lan Zhan, if you wanted something that reflected nothing of you—” A lie, especially of late. Everything about Wei Ying was wrapped up in Lan Zhan these days. He’d have to go quite a ways back into his catalog for something that wasn’t. Tracking down the owners wouldn’t be easy. “—then your brother has a gallery full of options by other artists. You could buy any of them and have what you want. Hell, anyone inside and out of this town would kill for your commission.” Wei Ying didn’t like thinking about that, not at all. “But you asked me specifically. You want to pay me specifically for something for you. I’m not going to just conveniently forget about that and randomly fling paint around. If that’s a problem, we can call it a wash and—”

And nothing, because Wei Ying would feel like a failure and what if it became a thing between them when there was already this other thing between them? He wasn’t certain that he could weather two such complications going wrong, not when he was already committed to changing something about the other one.

God. How was he supposed to ask Lan Zhan out after this?

“Lan Zhan, I’ll do something else for you,” he said, giving in because he had to give somewhere and it was either this or—or the other thing. “Don’t worry about it. This wasn’t even that much work. That’s why I did these mockups. Just…”

“No.”

“Lan Zhan, you’re unhappy with them. I can’t let you…”

“They’re beautiful. How did you feel when you did them?”

Aren’t you supposed to know that? You always know. Then again, he’d never seen what it was that Wei Ying always suppressed. Why should he recognize it now? But why did he have to ask that question, make Wei Ying think about it? How did he feel? How didn’t he feel? Loving, fearful, jealous, territorial, proud, eager, hopeful. Even if they never bedded one another, this was something that Li Wenfang would never have and he clung to that like he clung to nothing else.

“Go out with me,” Wei Ying said and then blanched, flash freezing as he realized what he’d just asked, the perfectly summed answer to Lan Zhan’s question. The words just—they spilled out with no concern for where they were or what he was supposed to be doing or even the best way to do this. He just—fuck. Go out with me? Who said that? It was the worst way to present his argument. He should’ve led with anything else—shouldn’t have done it at all, because it was a stupid pipe dream. How could he ever think one date, one night in bed, would ever be enough?

But this was what he’d signed himself up for: one shot with Lan Zhan, one night with him, a nice date, maybe something more. And then Wei Ying would scurry away with his tail between his legs, both of them the wiser, and Wei Ying would begin the process of moving on. He’d have what he wanted and perhaps he’d leave Lan Zhan with a good memory and it would be fine.

Lan Zhan said nothing, moved not an inch, as stunned as Wei Ying had ever seen him. He was the lone iceberg in the world that might never melt, no longer the sun, except…

Except there, a crack, a fissure, a breaking across the surface of Lan Zhan’s blank mask and in the breaking a slip, a slip that exposed something of the ninety percent of Lan Zhan that nobody ever saw and then it was gone again before Wei Ying could even begin to read it.

This was the first time in Wei Ying’s life that he wished he wasn’t privy to a piece of Lan Zhan that no one else saw. It was awful not to know what that look meant only to have it hidden away immediately.

“Lan Zhan, I’m so so—”

“Yes,” Lan Zhan said in a breathless rush, though how he’d managed to do that on a single word was anyone’s guess. “I’ll go out with you.”

I’ll go out with you.

That—

Uh.

His mouth was quicker than the rest of him because it let out a laugh, harsh and disbelieving and too joyful and it took every ounce of his strength to not immediately throw himself into Lan Zhan’s arms because shit. Shit. “That’s—wow, okay. I didn’t think you’d say yes, but that’s… it’ll be good, Lan Zhan, I promise. I…” He found a fresh well of boldness to ask, because why not? So Lan Zhan missed out on poaching some out of towner for one week: “Are you free on Wednesday?”

“I am.” He said this like it was nothing, the easiest answer in the world to give. Like Wednesdays weren’t important to him. There wasn’t even the hint of a suggestion that he would need to rearrange any pre-existing plans. If Wei Ying didn’t know what he knew already, he’d never have expected anything was unique about Wednesdays at all.

He took a step back and bumped into the wall, crumpling the butcher paper. “Oh. Oh, that’s… that’s good.”

Lan Zhan’s eyes were wide and bright as he looked at Wei Ying and kept looking at Wei Ying and Wei Ying was entirely unable to look away either, not until he cleared his throat and gestured toward the panels and fought the flush that threatened to climb his throat and take up permanent residence on his face.

“Are you… should I change these? Do you want something else?”

Lan Zhan looked at them again, his features softening. It was not disappointment there any longer, but Wei Ying couldn’t parse what had replaced it. He pointed at the first one, the one with the crane, Wei Ying’s favorite. “This is good.”

Wei Ying’s throat was so dry that his voice rasped slightly when he spoke. “Do you have any suggestions or requests?”

His mind was so stuck on the fact that Lan Zhan had said yes that the rest of the conversation passed in a blur. The notes he took, scribbled across the paper, would later seem like revelation put to page and reconstructing his thoughts when he’d written them would be like an archaeologist digging up an ancient past and searching through the detritus for as much context and meaning as possible, but he was—

It felt right, from the moment Lan Zhan said yes to the moment Wei Ying began deciphering those notes, that his mind should be a million miles off, searching out the best way to show Lan Zhan that he was in love with him.

In love. With… him.

Inlovewithhim.

Shit.

There was no way he was going to fuck this up with being in love. It was hard enough knowing he loved Lan Zhan when he knew they’d have to go their separate ways and…

And Wei Ying would still be in love him.

It was too late to take it back now. He wouldn’t take this away from either of them. He had this chance to do what he wanted and that had to be enough. It was what he’d asked for.

Wei Ying wasn’t above admitting, even days later, that he maybe wasn’t fully equipped to deal with this development. Or, well. Wait. He was totally above admitting it, because he wasn’t going to admit shit, except maybe that his wardrobe sucked and he was going to embarrass the hell out of Lan Zhan somehow and—

He couldn’t back out now, not when it was as though the heavens themselves wanted to bless Wei Ying’s attempt here because this was perfect in at least one respect: not another damned person on the planet would try it, not even Li Wenfang. Who in their right mind would invite Lan Zhan to a grungy bar for a concert? Only Wei Ying and he wasn’t feeling very much in his right mind at all right now anyway. If nothing else, the experience will be unique and Wei Ying was going to take that win as far as it would carry him. It could, at least, be something for Lan Zhan to remember him by when he no longer wanted to talk to him or see him or have anything to do with him.

—so maybe he found himself poking his head into Wen Qing’s studio space with a deliberately pleading expression at the ready. She was, as always, doing something very impressive with a very large lump of clay, but when she lifted her head, she must have seen some of the very real desperation he was trying to hide inside of himself (as opposed to the fake, over the top bullshit he wanted to sell her with because it was safer to project than be genuine, haha) because she put down, with minimal fuss or complaint, the creepy dental curette she was currently using to scrape away small curls of said clay. “Oh, good lord,” she said, wiping her hands on the linen apron she was wearing to protect the delicate lace of the shirt she was wearing, a fierce red that seemed a bit incongruous compared to the soft construction of the garment, but that was Wen Qing to the core, wasn’t it?

And that was why he was here instead of begging Mo “Show a Few More Abs” Xuanyu for help.

Wei Ying didn’t really have abs. His arms were okay, but he could have done five thousand crunches a day for years and never be ripped enough to risk a crop top or whatever Mo Xuanyu would have suggested instead if Wei Ying had consulted him. And anyway, going to Mo Xuanyu would have required telling him and he just wasn’t prepared to do that.

“What did you do?” Wen Qing asked. “You’re supposed to go pick up Lan Zhan in—” She pulled her phone from her pocket and glanced down at it quickly. “—two hours.”

“I don’t know what to wear,” Wei Ying admitted before he could be even more cruelly eviscerated for fucking up already when he hadn’t, even though there was an admittedly high probability of that happening, too. But she could at least pretend like it wasn’t a good possibility.

Wen Qing stared at him, entirely at a loss if the way her mouth hung open was any indication. Then, jaw clamping briefly shut, she said, “You don’t know what to wear? To Ancestral Tomb? Back in school you used to live there practically. You worked there. And you don’t know what to wear?”

“Aiya, I know what to wear to Ancestral Tomb, Wen-jie. I’m not stupid. I don’t know what to wear for Lan Zhan and Ancestral Tomb together.” He smashed his hands together in frustrated illustration. “Does not compute. I can dress for it or I can dress for Lan Zhan, but apparently I can’t do both.” Pressing his hands together in supplication, he bowed forward slightly. “Please help me.”

“What are you? Twelve? Dress for the man you want to fuck. Who cares what the edgelords at Ancestral Tomb think?”

That… wasn’t a bad point.

“And anyway, do you think Lan Zhan is going to dress as cool as Ancestral Tomb would want? Dress for him so you both can look out of place together.”

That was a terrible point! Wen Qing!

“Hey! Lan Zhan always looks cool and he is never out of place anywhere.”

“It’s a very different sort of cool and he’s definitely going to be out of place. Remember that time you almost had the cops called on you and he swooped in and—”

Okay, so Wen Qing had many painful points to make. “We don’t talk about that. It was so long ago.” In fact, he’d forgotten until this very moment that the only experience Lan Zhan had with Ancestral Tomb was The Time We Don’t Talk About. Groaning, he dragged his hand down his face and leaned back against the wall. “When did I get old? I don’t remember it happening.”

“Oh, something much worse happened to you, Wei Ying. You went mainstream, but hey. It beats starving.”

Wei Ying grimaced, but accepted this, too. His younger self would be aghast, but his stomach rather preferred not subsisting entirely on instant noodles. And he had the rest of Burial Mounds to consider, too. The money he made—as well as Wen Qing and Wen Ning and, sometimes, Mo Xuanyu, too—helped support the other artists who lived and worked here.

If that made him a little more establishment than he might have liked to be, there was nothing wrong with that.

Everyone did what they had to do and there were some perks: he doubted, for one thing, whether Lan Zhan would have looked a second time at his work if he determined that the only thing he could do was non-commercial. And hey, he didn’t have to bum money from Jiang Cheng anymore, so…

So it was good. Even if he was officially a square now.

“Come on,” Wen Qing said, relenting in her brutal assessment of his life path to clap him on the shoulder and pull him more firmly upright. “Let’s get you sorted out. At least you came to me while you still had time to think it through.”

After about forty-five minutes of arguing back and forth, Wei Ying was dressed well enough, he thought, as he looked at himself in the full-length mirror Mo Xuanyu purloined from who knew where and stuck, for equally obscure reasons, in the common area.

It felt really basic, the white dress shirt and tight gray jeans and his one pair of nice black leather shoes, but Wen Qing handed him his equally nice black leather jacket, the one that hit perfectly to ensure a ‘good view of his ass’ as he’d been informed on a few occasions, and Wei Ying felt moderately okay again, especially once Wen Qing did something to his hair that involved a few little braids and made it look nicer than usual before hair spraying it into place. Even Wen Ning, ink splattered across his face, stopped on his distracted journey back to his room to say, “You look good, Wei Ying,” which was very nice of him to say under the circumstances.

He wasn’t certain he looked good enough for Lan Zhan, but it would have to do. If he argued about this outfit, too, he’d somehow never make a decision and then he’d be late and that was an impossibility tonight, couldn’t happen. He’d be damned before it did.

Before Wei Ying could complain, she grabbed hold of his wrists and whipped out a bottle of something from her apron and spritzed it on one of his wrists, gestured for him to press it against his neck behind his ear, and then repeated with the opposite wrist.

“What is—” But he stopped as soon as the rich, spicy notes of the cologne hit him. He wasn’t great with scents, could really only isolate the sandalwood that Lan Zhan favored, but he liked this, too. So, okay, then. Maybe Lan Zhan wouldn’t be the only one smelling nice tonight. That was a good sign, right? “Where did you get that?”

“I grabbed it while you were changing.” Wen Qing shoved the bottle back into her apron and nodded, decisive. “You clean up okay. Just don’t psych yourself out too much, right? You’ve still got an hour before you’re supposed to pick him up.”

God. A whole hour to stew. “I think I’m gonna take a drive around, calm my nerves a bit before…” Wow, it really was like Wei Ying was taking him on a real date. It struck him anew that this was happening, pummeling him all at once. A date. He’d had the nerve to ask Lan Zhan out. And Lan Zhan said yes.

Probably it should have hit him when he begged Jiang Cheng to use his nice car for the night instead of the beater he and the others kept for emergencies even though none of them really liked it and Wei Ying and Wen Qing were the only one with licenses anyway, but he was possibly not always the sharpest pencil in the box as it were. It should have hit him when it happened or anytime afterward. But it only really struck true now.

“Wei Ying,” Wen Qing said, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him slightly, “you did good, okay? You asked him out like a grown up, somehow miraculously found an idea that would both be meaningful to him and unique to you, and you’re ready with plenty of time to spare.” She flicked him between his eyebrows. “Don’t think you’re way into fucking up, got it? Self-sabotage isn’t cute.”

“Ah haaa, I won’t, I promise…”

She stared into his soul until he was squirming under the pressure.

He held his fingered millimeters apart. “Maybe I’ll just paint a little bit?”

“No! Go for a drive if you have to, but you’re not going anywhere near your studio. You’ll end up getting caught up or get paint on your clothes.”

Ugh. Why did Wen Qing have to be right about everything?

Finally tired of his antics, he supposed, she shoved him toward the door. “Go, Wei Ying.”

And then he was out on the porch in the cool, early evening air, and he didn’t know fuck all what to do with himself.

The drive he intended to take, a meandering loop of roads that never strayed too far from Lan Zhan’s stomping ground because what if he got caught up in traffic or there was an accident or he somehow got lost, ended rather preemptively when Wei Ying found himself parked on the street outside Lan Zhan’s condo, staring absently at the building while he choked the life out of the steering wheel.

A gentle tap on his windshield startled the ever-loving shit out of him as he turned and choked back a shout, but it was only Lan Zhan, lovely and perfect, dressed far more casually than Wei Ying was used to seeing him just like Wei Ying had told him to dress and somehow, somehow Wei Ying couldn’t imagine him looking uncool at all, not even at Ancestral Tomb. Even his hair was more windswept than usual, casually unkempt, making him seem a little younger than he usually looked in a suit with hair perfectly coiffed.

Wei Ying started the car and hit the button to lower his window. “Lan Zhan, what are you doing here?”

Lan Zhan’s gaze flicked up to the building. “I live here,” he said, so deadpan that Wei Ying wasn’t certain if he was joking or not until he added, “I went for a walk and was just coming back. I thought we weren’t meeting until six. I would have stayed if I’d known…”

“Ah, Lan Zhan. It’s my fault. I was just killing time and…” And found my way here anyway. Go figure. His favorite place to kill time was Lan Zhan’s after all.

Something softened slightly in Lan Zhan’s gaze as he rounded the car. Before Wei Ying could complain, he was opening the passenger’s side door and slipping inside. He had on jeans. Actual jeans and they looked soft to the touch, worn, but well-loved. They fit perfectly around the shape of his knee and the top of his thigh. Wei Ying had never, ever seen them before.

He would know if he had. The dark wash did wonders for him.

Fuck.

“The reservation at the restaurant isn’t until six-thirty,” Wei Ying warned. Hitting the button to let down Lan Zhan’s window, too, he shut the car off again, glad for the cross breeze that would hopefully manage to stop his face from overheating.

“This is fine, too,” Lan Zhan said. “Or if you would like to continue your drive, you may. Unless…”

Lan Zhan stopped himself from speaking.

“Unless?”

Lan Zhan swallowed audibly, Adam’s apple moving up and down, tantalizing. “Unless you’d rather be alone until then.”

“That’s—” Possibly the stupidest thing Wei Ying had ever heard in his life. “Of course not. There’s no one’s company I prefer to yours.”

Lan Zhan ducked his head slightly in a short nod. “It is likewise for me.”

Wei Ying’s heart squeezed in his chest at hearing that. Even if they went back to the way things were before, Wei Ying could trust that, at least until Lan Zhan found someone better to spend his life with. Wei Ying couldn’t imagine himself being that person for Lan Zhan. Hell, Lan Zhan hadn’t even seemed to consider him a real possibility for a night out until Wei Ying brought it up first.

One date, one night. Just like all the others. Perfect. Clean. Unrepeatable. A memory to be encased in amber and treasured. Then back to their wonderful little friend zone for two where everything made sense and Wei Ying could pine in the way the heavens intended: from afar and with no one the wiser.

“Will you tell me where we’re going?” Lan Zhan asked.

“Already trying to ruin my surprise, Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying teased. But then he thought about it: Lan Zhan didn’t really like surprises. “There’s a good vegetarian restaurant near Ancestral Tombs.”

“I’ve been there,” Lan Zhan said.

“Oh.”

Lan Zhan’s hand twitched toward the center of the car and then retracted back toward his lap. “It’s an excellent restaurant. I keep telling myself I’ll go back, but I haven’t had the time.”

Wei Ying’s heart squeezed again. Lan Zhan really was too good. Always wanted to make others feel better even when he shouldn’t have accidentally made Lan Zhan feel bad. But it was just… he was nervous. He wanted it to be good for Lan Zhan. Any suggestion that it wouldn’t be was…

But Wei Ying believed him.

“Thank you for thinking of it,” Lan Zhan added.

“It wasn’t that much. And don’t thank me too soon, because we’re going to Ancestral Tomb afterward,” Wei Ying replied, awkward. It was such a small consideration all things told, to pick a restaurant that Lan Zhan would like. Lan Zhan didn’t have to thank him for it and shouldn’t have. He fidgeted his fingers and stared at his steering wheel. In fact, that was the easy part. In a way, it had felt too easy, so easy as to be entirely thoughtless in truth.

Thank him. Pfft. Really, it was entirely unnecessary. Lan Zhan thanking Wei Ying? In what world?

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan said, somber, his tone almost elegiac, like he was mourning something and Wei Ying had no idea what it could possibly be. “Will you look at me?”

But how could he do that right now? It was far, far too much. His heart was already too full. Looking at Lan Zhan when he already felt as though his chest would burst seemed like a dangerous proposition. “Why don’t we go for that drive, huh?” he said, squeaky or perhaps that was only how it sounded to his own ears.

And then Lan Zhan was reaching for him and wrapped his hand around Wei Ying’s which was around the keys, preparing to start the car. He held it tightly enough that the metal dug into Wei Ying’s palm. The slight, sharp pain of it wasn’t enough to distract him, however, from the sound of Lan Zhan’s voice. “Wei Ying.”

“Lan Zhan, really. You’re making too big a deal out of it.”

Lan Zhan’s hand pulled away as though burned and Wei Ying couldn’t say he was now relieved about that fact. Somehow he got the feeling that he’d said something wrong, but he wasn’t sure what exactly was wrong with it. Wei Ying wasn’t so incompetent he couldn’t choose a restaurant Lan Zhan liked, right? He wasn’t that selfish?

Wei Ying was quiet as he drove, following the road that curved toward and around the lake behind Lan Zhan’s place, taking the long, winding way back toward the city center, and, of course, Lan Zhan was even quieter, but where it might have been companionable in the past, now it was just painfully awkward. He was tempted to turn on some music, but that felt wrong, too. Lan Zhan’s attention mostly remained on the water or the sidewalk or the street signs, not on Wei Ying at all.

Wei Ying only wanted to fix what he’d broken in that moment, but though he had the pieces, he couldn’t see the shape of what it should have been. “I’m…” God, but these were such terrible words to say, so… “Lan Zhan, I’m sorry.”

“It’s nothing,” Lan Zhan answered, clipped, but there was a thaw in his voice, too, and his eyes were warmer when Wei Ying briefly looked over at him at the light when he stopped at an intersection only a few blocks from the restaurant. “I understand, Wei Ying.”

I’m not sure I do, but he breathed out in relief all the same. Lan Zhan was such a bewildering creature, all surface and not surface at all.

He was all surface in the way a clear lake was all surface. You could see into the depths of it. That was Lan Zhan to Wei Ying. Perfect and pristine as he was though, as any lake could be, they still held shadowed corners that reached just a little bit deeper where light couldn’t penetrate through. That, apparently, was Lan Zhan, too.

The atmosphere once they reached the restaurant was less relaxed than he would have liked it to be, but there was little he could do about it except fumble his way through repairs. Whatever else happened, he didn’t want Lan Zhan’s chance to see this musician ruined by Wei Ying’s careless words or actions. So he doted a little. Maybe. Stretched across the table to fill Lan Zhan’s bowl with bits and pieces of the various dishes they’d ordered.

“Lan Zhan, how was your day?” he asked, conciliatory and interested as Lan Zhan answered, at first perfunctorily, but then with more detail as Wei Ying asked for said details. He even let Lan Zhan discuss other artists with him even though Wei Ying sometimes, maybe felt a bit jealous if Lan Zhan seemed to enjoy their work too much. “Do you have a picture?” he even asked, after Lan Zhan had described what was apparently the most perfectly balanced abstract painting of a fern the world could have hoped to see, and he wasn’t disappointed when Lan Zhan shook his head and said no, of course not. He added, sly to cover the ugly way he didn’t want Lan Zhan to like anyone’s stupid abstract fern, “Have you considered buying it yourself?”

Who needed abstract ferns anyway?

“No,” Lan Zhan said. “I’m not the right collector for the piece.”

“You’re not a collector at all.” It was half the reason why Wei Ying liked him so much: he wasn’t precious about this shit they all embroiled themselves in either. It wasn’t about clout or capturing objects or proving his tastes and credentials. He genuinely wanted artists to find a spotlight for themselves in a world that didn’t like paying them for their vocation.

Lan Zhan gave him a funny little look before turning his attention fully to his food again, something Wei Ying recognized well. That was his no talking while eating face going on display and because this was a date and not just any other night, Wei Ying quieted down, too, picking at his own meal, a little too nervous to appreciate it.

When they were nearly finished, close enough to the time that the show was meant to start that Wei Ying didn’t feel the need to pretend he was able to eat anymore, he excused himself to use the restroom and take care of the bill before Lan Zhan could try to sneak around and do it first.

The host took his payment, smiling cordially while Wei Ying tapped his fingers against his flank, heart climbing his throat in bewilderment. Away from Lan Zhan, his thoughts whizzed and whirled around his mind, none of them stopping long enough for him to get a grip on any of them. Was the night an unmitigated disaster or was Lan Zhan having a good time? Was Wei Ying? How would he—was this the way it was with the others Lan Zhan courted for the night? What would happen if…?

“If you’ll scan your phone, sir?” the woman asked, tapping at the reader with one slim finger. Her smile remained fixed, but there was the slightest degree of curiosity in her eyes and voice, like she was perhaps concerned about what might be happening here, worried he’d just become a problem customer for her.

“Oh, right.” He dug his phone from his pocket, nearly fumbling it, and pulled up the correct app, placing his phone face down until he heard the pleasant beep which confirmed payment. Letting out a sigh, he put his phone away again. It would have been just his luck if something went wrong at this point, but apparently the heavens hadn’t entirely forsaken him yet. He offered her an apologetic smile. “Sorry.”

And then he was slipping past her and a few other customers waiting for seats to open up to reach the restroom, where he splashed cold water across his face and stared at his reflection like that might provide an answer to all of his problems. Of course, it could offer nothing except the visual evidence of his complete lack of chill. His cheeks were pink and he couldn’t even blame it—or the heat when he placed his palms over them—on alcohol. No, that was all him and his utterly embarrassing behavior when it came to Lan Zhan.

After taking a leak and washing his hands, he returned to the table, Lan Zhan standing up as soon as Wei Ying reached it. His eyes were narrowed and before he could even lodge his complaint, Wei Ying lifted his hand to silence him. Clearly he’d tried and failed to pay for dinner, too. “Ah, ah. My treat, Lan Zhan.”

Lips thinning, Lan Zhan nodded, a little curt. Not rude, just… put out, maybe? Like his expectations had been dashed and he was annoyed about it.

Only Lan Zhan.

“Come on,” Wei Ying said, grabbing Lan Zhan’s wrist without even really registering it, only noticing after he’d already half-dragged Lan Zhan out of the restaurant.

Wei Ying’s pulse skyrocketed as he realized just what it was he’d done. Terror gripped him for a moment. In the past, he wouldn’t have thought twice about taking advantage of Lan Zhan’s personal space, but this was a date and he was exquisitely aware at this very moment that it was a date, that they were out because Wei Ying liked him and wanted to take him somewhere he’d enjoy and Lan Zhan had agreed to it, which meant he had to like Wei Ying a little bit, too, even if it wasn’t the same and the only other time they’d touched tonight was in the car and that hadn’t exactly ended well and—

And Wei Ying could feel Lan Zhan’s pulse, too, just beneath his thumb, nowhere near as frantic as Wei Ying’s own, but pounding a little quicker, too.

Only a few centimeters and they could be holding hands if he or Lan Zhan wanted it, but neither of them moved. A man cleared his throat ahead of them and stared pointedly at various points in the small entryway that he and Lan Zhan were currently blocking as though to say pick anywhere else to stand except in the very middle.

“Ah, sorry,” Wei Ying said, dropping Lan Zhan’s wrist as casually as possible. For fear of doing anything else untoward, he shoved his hands in his pockets. The man continued to glare at them as they went out the door and then finally shook his head and continued into the restaurant. Outside, there was still a cool breeze, the air remarkably crisp and refreshing after the time they’d spent inside. “Would you like to drive over or walk?”

Sounding a little distracted and distant, Lan Zhan said, “Walking is fine.”

Wei Ying’s hand itched to take hold of something. In the past, he might have shamelessly draped himself over Lan Zhan’s side, wrapping his arm around Lan Zhan to lean heavily against him. It felt too loaded to do anything of the sort right now, but how he wanted to do it.

Lan Zhan walked with his arms behind his back, one hand holding the opposite wrist against his lower back. His posture was perfect, beautiful, and Wei Ying wanted nothing more than to pull him off-balance, upset that beauty a little bit.

Just. Why did this have to be so awkward? Why? Presumably Lan Zhan was expecting Wei Ying to behave as he always did. It wouldn’t be an undue burden to him then to do these things that he wanted to do. But he couldn’t. It was like iron bands were suddenly holding him back, staying the worst of his impulses, long past when he should have stopped worrying about how it looked and just let himself have one moment of fun in all of this. If it was to be his only chance, it should be fun.

If this was always meant to be such a struggle, where were those iron bands when Wei Ying first opened his big fucking mouth? Where was this restraint? Why didn’t propriety hold him back then? Or at any point before this that had led to Wei Ying making this decision?

At this rate, Wei Ying was never going to succeed in making Lan Zhan feel like anything except a fool.

Who would have thought that Wei Ying would only behave properly now?

Fuck it. Wei Ying had to get over this, test the waters, chill the fuck out and act like he normally did or else all of this would be for nothing and Lan Zhan would, rightly, figure out what a weird asshole Wei Ying was and never want to have anything to do with him.

“Lan Zhan?” He sidled over a little, but not quite as close as he wanted to be. One hand reached out to brush Lan Zhan’s forearm. He wasn’t going to die from this and slid one step closer. Lan Zhan tensed a fraction, but he didn’t flinch or step away.

Good sign, good sign. That was a good sign. It had to be a good sign because Wei Ying wouldn’t be able to stand it if it wasn’t. “Lan Zhan,” he said again, because it was easier to say his name than to get out his request. “Would it be okay if…?”

“Yes.”

“Lan Zhan, I didn’t even say it. How can you just agree?”

“Because anything you want would be okay,” Lan Zhan said, like it was that simple. Maybe in his own mind it was. Maybe for him, this sort of thing was always simple. All Wei Ying knew was his head and his heart were a tangle and all the things he wanted, as close as he was to them, were things he felt he couldn’t have. “Wei Ying, take what you want. It will be given freely.”

He knew from Li Wenfang that Lan Zhan was good at giving people exactly what they wanted.

It still felt… Wei Ying’s heart… Though his hands shook, he tugged Lan Zhan’s arm free and hugged it close, tucking himself against Lan Zhan’s side as his arm crooked against Wei Ying’s chest. “Lan Zhan is so bold,” he muttered. No wonder all these other men wanted another taste of him. Where before, Lan Zhan was tense, now he allowed himself to unbend some, or maybe that was just because he was allowing Wei Ying to mold himself to Lan Zhan. Wei Ying wasn’t certain. Either way, he was no longer so tense.

“Ridiculous,” Lan Zhan answered, but it was spoken with so much fondness that Wei Ying threatened to choke on it, knowing that he would never in this life get enough of the feeling of Lan Zhan at his side, berating him in such intimate ways, his tone soft despite Wei Ying’s nonsense.

This did not belong to him, could perhaps be considered a loan at best, short in duration but no less important for all that, but for this one night, Wei Ying was going to pretend it was something bigger, that Lan Zhan might want be convinced that having all of Wei Ying was worth it.

Outside Ancestral Tomb, there was a short line of people waiting to get in, names being checked against a bouncer’s clipboard, and a poster with h i d d e n f r a g r a n c e embossed across the thick paper, black on black, cool, if nearly unreadable.

That didn’t stop Lan Zhan from reading it and going still, arm tensing beneath Wei Ying’s touch. “Wei Ying?”

He didn’t regret keeping this piece to himself, not when Lan Zhan was going to look at him like this. Awe sparkled in those gold eyes of his, awe and wonder. “Surprise?”

“But—”

Wei Ying shrugged. “Are you disappointed?”

“No!”

“Then don’t worry about it,” Wei Ying replied, dragging Lan Zhan toward the bouncer. In fact, he probably didn’t want to know how this came about and just chose to believe he was lucky and that Nie Huaisang wasn’t a terrifying friend to have. “Two under Wei Ying?”

As soon as they entered the place, Wei Ying was thrown back in time. Nothing about it had changed, not even the clientele. Any of the people here could have been Wei Ying’s classmates once upon a time. Though muscle memory insisted that Wei Ying approach the bar, Wei Ying followed Lan Zhan’s lead, allowing himself to be pulled toward one of the few tables that littered the back half of the large floor space, pushed more closely together than a usual night to allow for those who would want to crowd closer to the stage.

“You don’t want to be near the front?” Wei Ying asked.

Lan Zhan, fussing with a pair of chairs until they were spaced the way he wanted them to be, shook his head. “This is what I want.”

Wei Ying glanced around. What Lan Zhan wanted apparently was an empty, shadowy corner near the very back.

Who was Wei Ying to argue, he supposed. Lan Zhan had always preferred to stay away from crowds. Maybe that extended to something like this, too. Taking one of the seats, he squinted up at the stage and hoped Lan Zhan wasn’t going to end up disappointed with this arrangement. Sure, Ancestral Tomb wasn’t that big, but this was a show! And Lan Zhan liked this performer! Shouldn’t he have wanted to get closer?

“Would you like anything to drink?” Lan Zhan asked, still standing, drawing Wei Ying’s attention away from the stage, which was also entirely devoid of decoration except for a pair of thin black tubes on either side.

“Hmm?” Wei Ying looked up. “Ah, I’m okay, Lan Zhan. I’m driving after all. If you want anything, I’d be happy to get it for you.” Lan Zhan’s alcohol tolerance used to be complete shit, but these days he could at least manage a glass of champagne or two at events, so he figured it would be safe enough. When he placed his hands on the table to push himself up, Lan Zhan placed his hand on Wei Ying’s shoulder.

“I’ll get it.” And then Lan Zhan drifted toward the bar, conversing stiffly with the bartender, who gave him a funny look and then a nod and then Lan Zhan was returning with a pair of mugs filled with steaming water. When Lan Zhan placed one before him, he saw a tea bag floating on the top and had to bite back a smile. There was a matching tea bag in Lan Zhan’s mug.

They really were a bunch of squares. It was a good thing they were here in a corner where no one could see or judge them.

After a few more minutes, the lights lowered and the shuffling crowd of people worked their way toward the front. It was a largeish crowd, not quite to capacity, but more people than Wei Ying truly expected to see given Nie Huaisang’s earlier remarks. Not that Wei Ying had the biggest pulse on the music industry in town, but he heard about most local acts and even he’d been caught entirely by surprise by h i d d e n f r a g r a n c e. He’d suspected it was the same for everyone else as well.

Except perhaps not. Perhaps it was only Wei Ying who was out of the loop.

The pair of tubes on stage pulsed a glowing yellow before melting into orange into red into purple and blue and green and back again. A figure dressed in a black suit and black shirt stepped onto the stage from the back and Wei Ying, who had been interested to find out who this person was, was disappointed to see they wore a mask. It was yellow and only had a few slashes of gold to give the vague suggestion of eyes and a mouth. The light flickered and glinted off the edges of it. The only thing Wei Ying could tell was that whoever was beneath it was short.

The mask reminded Wei Ying of the theater and as far as gimmicks went, he’d seen worse. It was pretty cool admittedly. Did Lan Zhan know? It seemed like he might have some insider details. “Hey, Lan Zhan, you know who this guy is?”

“I’ve never asked,” Lan Zhan said. “I don’t particularly care. I’m sure I could find out if you want to know.”

Wei Ying nodded and returned his attention to the stage. He’d been expecting an entire band, at least a guitar and maybe a bass. Of the music he’d listened to, a lot had to have been recorded on those instruments, but all that stood with the musician was an guqin rigged up to an amp, a few plastic looking cubes that lit up and made odd sounds when he tapped each one in turn, and then a table that also lit up and made sounds when he messed with it.

“What are those?” Wei Ying asked, not really expecting an answer.

“AudioCubes,” was Lan Zhan’s immediate response as he pointed to the cluster of, duh, cubes. Then, pointing at the table, “Reactable.”

“You’re bullshitting me.” Wei Ying leaned into Lan Zhan’s side. “How would you know that? Lan Zhan, you’re really cool even if those names are stupid.”

Lan Zhan didn’t dignify that with a response beyond a vaguely amused twitch of a smile, but it didn’t matter, because Wei Ying was entranced now. In fact, he immediately wanted to hop up onto the stage and play with the things. They looked like so much fun. Probably he should have respected them as legitimate musical instruments, especially once h i d d e n f r a g r a n c e began playing in earnest. But fun! A lot of fun! And really bright.

There had to be a way to work something like that into an art installation. He could feel it. That wasn’t really his style, but he could adapt. Or maybe he just really wanted to play with the toys.

The thought was eventually lost as he got swept up in the music that was being… grown on stage. He didn’t know how else to describe it, couldn’t even really say when or where one song began and one song ended, each note of the guqin sliding smoothly into the next, drawn out as he occasionally shifted one of the cubes or moved something on the… Reactable. h i d d e n f r a g r a n c e never stopped, not to speak with the audience, not to take a break, not to sing. There wasn’t even a microphone up there as far as Wei Ying could see and nobody even seemed to mind as they danced and swayed to the soundscapes he built for them, as though he was a hypnotist putting everyone under his spell.

The only thing that managed to break it for Wei Ying was looking over at Lan Zhan and suddenly the spell was of an entirely different quality. Lan Zhan seemed entranced, too, or rather like he was being taken out of himself and it was a relief to him to be something else for even a moment. He didn’t even seem to notice that Wei Ying was staring so frankly at him, not for a very long time, not until it was over and Wei Ying didn’t even notice that, to focused on Lan Zhan, until it was too late and Lan Zhan was turning his head. They stared at each other for so long that Wei Ying forgot to breathe, lungs aching when he finally thought to drag in oxygen.

Instead of saying anything, Lan Zhan curled his hand around the back of Wei Ying’s neck to pull him into a sweeping kiss, one that reached deep into Wei Ying’s chest to pull his feelings free and spill them across the table.

They gave themselves, every one of Wei Ying’s wayward, reeling feelings, to Lan Zhan in that kiss, heedless of Wei Ying’s thoughts, which were mostly a blur except for the one rational brain cell left which said he shouldn’t jump into this until…

When Lan Zhan pulled back, breathing heavily, lips pink under the lights that were finally coming back up, Wei Ying told that rational brain cell to go to hell and grabbed Lan Zhan’s face between both of his hands, and kissed him again until he knew the inside of Lan Zhan’s mouth as intimately as he knew his own.

The rushing sound of his blood pulsed in his ears, overwhelmingly loud, and his heart hammered, lungs protesting, but it didn’t matter, not when he needed Lan Zhan’s taste on his tongue more than he needed air. How was he supposed to give this up, when he finally knew how the short, soft hairs at the nape of Lan Zhan’s neck felt beneath his fingers?

Lan Zhan’s hands tightened against Wei Ying’s shoulder. “Wei Ying.” His voice was hoarse when he finally pulled away, Wei Ying chasing after him. “Wei Ying, can we—”

“Yes,” Wei Ying answered. Anything, anything. His hands shook as he tried to free his keys from his pocket and Lan Zhan, impatient, took them from him, touch far steadier than Wei Ying’s. “You can—do you want to drive?”

Grabbing him by the elbow, he pulled Wei Ying to his feet. “I’ll drive.”

That was—probably for the best because Wei Ying’s head was swimming, body warm all over, his thoughts narrowed down to the grip Lan Zhan still had on him, the quick way he pulled Wei Ying through the crowd that remained behind, nursing drinks and chatting and not having their world tilt on its axis because shit, shit Lan Zhan was dragging him out and even the slap of cold nighttime air on his skin wasn’t enough to fully rouse him from the agony of this dream coming true so quickly before him, unfolding so fast that he feared it would tear in two, incapable of holding up under the onslaught.

He nearly tripped over his own feet as they strode toward the car parked so far away, blocks away, too far, Wei Ying mentally cursing his lack of foresight. Why hadn’t he driven? This walk was insane, obscene. It felt as though everyone milling around outside could see the state he was in, the buzz of arousal skittering across the surface of his skin.

It took Lan Zhan two tries to get the key in the lock on the passenger’s side door, but then he was opening it for Wei Ying, passing him inside like he was some kind of perfect gentleman even now and—and Wei Ying couldn’t stand it. How could one man be so perfect?

Lan Zhan didn’t race around the car, but his step was quick as Wei Ying traced his path around the front of it.

And then Lan Zhan was opening the driver’s side door and stooping inside.

It was the longest drive of Wei Ying’s life and afterward, he didn’t remember anything except the way Lan Zhan occasionally snuck glances Wei Ying’s way and each time he did it, it landed like a blow to Wei Ying’s body and that was okay, too, that ache, because it proved to him that this was real.

The door was barely closed before Lan Zhan crowded Wei Ying back against it, the handle skimming Wei Ying’s side, an ache blooming where his body struck it. It would leave a bruise, but Wei Ying could honestly say he didn’t give a fuck, not when the slight hint of pain felt so good in counterpoint to the brush of Lan Zhan’s lips down his chin and jaw, touching him anywhere and everywhere. Each centimeter of skin he could reach, he thoroughly kissed.

Wei Ying strained against his jeans, so hard he couldn’t stand it. Lan Zhan used his slight height advantage against Wei Ying, seemingly realizing what Wei Ying needed—and there, right there, in the back of his mind, he thought of Li Wenfang admiring Lan Zhan’s preternatural ability to know exactly how to undo a person—as he shoved his leg between both of Wei Ying’s, pressing close, foot lifted on his toes so Wei Ying had no choice but to ride Lan Zhan’s thigh, not that he wanted a choice because even the dry chafing rub of their bodies together was exquisitely—

Fuck, fuck, they were really doing this. It was Lan Zhan here with him, Lan Zhan’s hands on him, rucking up under his shirt, his mouth, sucking lines down his throat, pressing him into the door. The metal rivets on his jeans and jacket clattered against the wood and if Wei Ying cared more, he’d wonder exactly what this all sounded like to someone who might be passing in the hallway.

“Lan Zhan,” he said, between panting breaths. His nails caught on the soft fabric of his t-shirt and pulled. God, Lan Zhan was wearing a t-shirt. Before tonight, Wei Ying hadn’t even known he owned any. “Lan Zhan, this isn’t going to—I’m not—”

Wei Ying’s warning did nothing to stop Lan Zhan from ripping open his shirt with impatient fingers, each button a personal insult and still he was stymied by the thin cotton undershirt beneath. Lan Zhan made a frustrated sound and yanked at the collar until it was far enough down that Lan Zhan could bite at Wei Ying’s chest, following with the warm pad of his thumbs as they stroked over—

“Lan Zhan, I mean it,” Wei Ying said, high-pitched. He wasn’t—this wasn’t something he’d done before, not with another person anyway and the last thing he wanted was to… “This is gonna—” Wei Ying groaned in frustrated agony and banged his head back against the door. Gulping air and finding a more commanding tone, he said, “I’m going to disappoint you if you don’t stop.”

That got Lan Zhan’s attention at least. He stopped immediately and raised his head and thank fuck for the reprieve, what little reprieve that was afforded him with Lan Zhan’s leg still between his, but also holy shit. There was desire in his eyes, Wei Ying was able to parse that, and something entirely unfathomable, barely controlled. “Disappoint me?” The words were ground out, graveled, and then he made a surprised, guttural sound when Wei Ying shifted accidentally, brushing against the hard heat of Lan Zhan’s own arousal. His touch was a little rough as his thumb brushed over Wei Ying’s lower lip and pressed in just enough for Wei Ying to bite at the tip, swipe his tongue over the pad. He made another sound for Wei Ying, this one a little whining, and it was incredible to hear at all when Lan Zhan was so quiet the rest of the time. “Wei Ying, you’re… you could never disappoint me.”

It sounded like it hurt for him to say and it had to be a lie regardless. Wei Ying had disappointed a lot of people in his life. Hell, he was pretty sure he had disappointed Lan Zhan a time or two already, but those times hardly mattered now. He just couldn’t—if this was their one shot…

“If you don’t want to do this…” Lan Zhan continued, drawing the wrong conclusion from who knew where.

“I do! I just…”

“Don’t want to disappoint me.”

“Yeah,” Wei Ying said, feeling like every sort of shit for ruining the moment.

Lan Zhan looked at him again, more closely this time, and this was a little more in line with what he’d imagined Lan Zhan to be like based on what Li Wenfang had said. It turned his stomach a little to have Lan Zhan staring at him as though he was the scattered pieces of a puzzle he was charged with putting back together, but it was exciting, too, to have all that attention directed his way. For this reason.

“What do you want to do?” Lan Zhan asked, which wasn’t at all in line with what Li Wenfang had said, leaving Wei Ying confused because—because this was different from what he was expecting. Wasn’t Lan Zhan supposed to know? The reality of it was staggering. What did he want to do? Anything. Everything. But if they only ever had this one night together, he wanted it to be whatever Lan Zhan hoped it would be. Whatever it was Lan Zhan thought about—if he thought about it at all—when he was in bed, alone, hand wrapped around himself, or maybe in the shower doing the same, what did Wei Ying know about his habits? But that was what he wanted. Whatever Lan Zhan might have envisioned, that was the memory he wanted to be left with, knowing he’d been able to do this one thing for him.

For them.

“Did you think about this?” Wei Ying asked, not because he wanted the assurance, though that would be a nice side effect.

After a moment’s deliberation, Lan Zhan nodded jerkily.

“What did you think about?”

Lan Zhan’s fingers tightened against Wei Ying’s cheek, his neck, nails scraping lightly over his skin. Lan Zhan’s hands were so big and his thumb still sat at the corner of Wei Ying’s mouth. His eyes were wide as he watched Wei Ying turn his head to press a kiss into Lan Zhan’s palm. His heart was going to give out on him, he was sure. It pounded so furiously against his rib cage.

“I thought about…” Lan Zhan inhaled through his nose, exhaled again, the noise loud in the ensuing silence as Wei Ying waited for the answer. Finally, he raised his head and looked Wei Ying in the eyes, wearing his need as a badge of pride. “I’d like to blow you.”

A fresh wave of arousal pulled at Wei Ying like an undertow, threatening to drag him out to sea. Even just hearing it, Lan Zhan’s tone somehow both titillating and entirely matter-of-fact, he wasn’t sure Lan Zhan would actually manage to get his mouth on Wei Ying before he… before…

He’d thought he was prepared, but he wasn’t in any way actually prepared for…

Wei Ying closed his eyes, imagined cold showers and every unarousing image he could think of and it still wasn’t enough, but if this was what Lan Zhan wanted, he’d give it to him gladly. “Okay, Lan Zhan.”

And then Lan Zhan was breathing out and pressing his hands to Wei Ying’s side and gracefully lowering himself to his knees right fucking here in his living room, like he couldn’t wait and his fingers shook as he unbuttoned the fly and Wei Ying was biting back gasps, counting numbers to distract himself as Lan Zhan pulled his jeans and underwear, damp with precome, down his thighs, not even bothering to disrobe him fully before taking Wei Ying into his mouth.

Warm, wet heat surrounded him, overwhelming. Even though Wei Ying tried to prepare himself, it wasn’t enough. Knowing Lan Zhan wanted this? There was no protection against it. Lan Zhan’s brow was furrowed slightly when Wei Ying dared to look down, mouth already shiny with saliva and though the only audible sounds were Wei Ying’s own, ones he attempted to muffle in his own forearm as he scrabbled for the non-existent purchase the smooth door offered. God, it felt—Lan Zhan worked him so thoroughly on his tongue, the suck and scrape of teeth perfect and infuriating in turns as Lan Zhan stopped and started again, drawing it out maybe, somehow able to tell how close he could get Wei Ying to orgasm without pushing him over the edge.

“Lan Zhan, I…”

There was a stifled grunt, entirely obscene, out of Lan Zhan that caught him entirely unaware and then he was—but when Wei Ying tried to warn him, tried to pull away, Lan Zhan clamped his hands around the back of Wei Ying’s thighs and held him in place, swallowing around Wei Ying in such a perfect counterpoint that pleasure crested down his spine a second time and he—

“Oh, fuck,” he said, weak as he slumped backward, remembering only belatedly that he wasn’t the only party involved here and Lan Zhan hadn’t…

Lan Zhan was resting his forehead against Wei Ying’s hip, breathing harshly, his hands curled in his lap. He wasn’t moving, didn’t do anything except breathe, and when Wei Ying grabbed at his shoulder to pull him upright, he shivered and made a small, harsh sound that threatened to send another hum of arousal through him.

“Lan Zhan, let me…”

He hadn’t exactly planned his next step, probably reciprocating even though he didn’t know what the fuck he was doing, the entirety of his knowledge, broad though it was, also entirely theoretical. But when he looked closely, he saw a faint stain across the front of Lan Zhan’s jeans, almost impossible to tell given the material and dark wash, but there all the same. And—and Lan Zhan was not hard any longer, when Wei Ying sure as hell had felt it pressed against his leg earlier. “Lan Zhan?”

Lan Zhan looked up at him, an enigmatic little smile on his mouth, and said, “Let’s get cleaned up.”

“Lan Zhan, you… was that…” Wei Ying’s features crumpled slightly in concern. “Was that okay?”

Lan Zhan just pulled Wei Ying close and pressed a kiss to Wei Ying’s temple, so gentle that it stole Wei Ying’s breath from him. “It was perfect. Thank you.”

Wei Ying scrunched his nose at that. Wei Ying hadn’t even done anything. How could it be perfect? Lan Zhan looked uncomfortable even and walking to the bathroom in sticky jeans couldn’t be fun. Why hadn’t he let Wei Ying touch him? Did he just rub one out through his jeans? It didn’t make sense and it didn’t match what he imagined the others all got.

Not that it wasn’t incredible. Of course it was. For him. But this wasn’t just about him.

As Lan Zhan led him to the bathroom, he had as many questions as answers, as many complaints as praises. He’d wanted to give something back to Lan Zhan, not just take this from him. And now Lan Zhan was politely pointing out where the toiletries were, bringing him a towel, offering clean, fresh lounge wear and an unopened pair of briefs that matched the band peeking out above Lan Zhan’s jeans.

Did Lan Zhan do this for his other guests, too?

“I’ll be quick,” Wei Ying said, delicately not pointing out that it really should be Lan Zhan going first.

“Take your time.”

By the time Wei Ying was done, skin pink from the heat of the water, he felt a little clearer headed. The sense of dread in his gut disappeared. Surely Lan Zhan had a good time, too, and if he didn’t, well, Lan Zhan had given him underwear and pajamas. That meant Wei Ying might have another chance, right? Li Wenfang never mentioned anything about multiple rounds, but he had said that Lan Zhan’s guests were free to stay over, so that meant Wei Ying could stay over, too, right?

He stepped out of the bathroom and crossed the hall to the bedroom, his clothing a rumpled pile in his arms.

Lan Zhan was sitting on his bed, still dressed, staring off into the distance, startled when Wei Ying cleared his throat. His gaze cleared as he looked Wei Ying’s way, cataloging him from head to foot. The pajama bottoms were just a little too long, the t-shirt a bit wide in the shoulders, but they mostly fit and were comfortable and smelled vaguely of Lan Zhan, which was nice. He stood and held his arms out. “I’ll put those in the wash for you.”

Wash. That meant staying long enough for them to air dry. That meant Lan Zhan was asking him to stay over? “You don’t have to. I know where your washing machine is. I can take care of it.”

A pinched expression pulled Lan Zhan’s features inward slightly. When he reached again, Wei Ying twisted around. “Wei Ying.”

“I’ll do it!” he said, dancing out of the way, curious about what Lan Zhan might do, but though he made an aborted gesture toward Wei Ying, he apparently decided it wasn’t worth it and excused himself to use the bathroom. Wei Ying wasn’t disappointed. Then it was genuinely true as he wandered through Lan Zhan’s home barefoot, wearing Lan Zhan’s clothes, doing his laundry in the spectacularly ancient washing machine that was hidden away in a small recess near the bathroom.

He heard the shower turn on again and bit his lip. Lan Zhan’s condo was probably nice enough that the washing machine wouldn’t interfere with the water in the bathroom and Lan Zhan probably would have said something about waiting. Even so, he felt guilty about the thought of accidentally hogging the water or something.

Dumping his clothes into the small basin, he closed the lid and went back to the kitchen to put on some tea instead. His clothes would still be there when Lan Zhan was done. Just because he could, he snooped in all the cupboards. As always, everything was organized beautifully, stored neatly and logically in rows and racks and jars, and so much affection threatened to spill out of him. He was over-full with it, like a cup that brimmed precariously with water. One wrong move and it would splash all over everything and leave behind a mess.

The door to the bathroom creaked open and Wei Ying turned just in time to witness the topple. Even from all the way across the condo, Wei Ying could admire Lan Zhan’s exposed clavicles, the way the thin shirt he wore clung to his chest and torso, wet in places where he hadn’t dried himself thoroughly.

The thought of Lan Zhan drying himself off too quickly was not one that Wei Ying needed to analyze at the moment.

A scratching sound came from the corner of the condo where the hutch stood, pulling Wei Ying from his thoughts. “Turpentine!”

Tea forgotten, Wei Ying went over and let her out. He crouched down to pick her up, but she darted away, bounding toward the bedroom. When Wei Ying followed, Lan Zhan was already standing at the washing machine, shoving his own clothes in with Wei Ying’s and starting it, somehow managing to win anyway.

“Lan Zhan, I was going to!”

“No need,” Lan Zhan said. “Would you like to…?”

Wei Ying’s hopes were raised until Lan Zhan trailed off. It couldn’t already be getting awkward, could it? Didn’t they deserve one night where it didn’t have to be awkward? If Lan Zhan couldn’t do it, then Wei Ying would have to. He wasn’t going to spoil tonight with further worries. Lan Zhan was amazing and Wei Ying would never forget what Lan Zhan did to him and he intended to see this through. For one night, he could be bold. “I’d like to stay if I could.” He fitted his hands over Lan Zhan’s trim hips. “I’d like to return the favor if you’ll let me.”

“Wei Ying, you—of course you’re welcome to stay.”

Wei Ying slipped his fingers beneath the hem of the shirt, skimmed his palm over the warm, flat planes of Lan Zhan’s stomach. His abdomen twitched beneath Wei Ying’s hand and he drew in a breath. He wrapped his fingers wrapped around Wei Ying’s wrist and said, “You don’t owe me anything.”

“I can do better than stand there like an idiot while you blow my mind then,” Wei Ying answered, just as the tea kettle made itself known in a high-pitched squeal. Fuck, talk about timing. “Maybe after we have some tea since the water’s ready.”

Lan Zhan looked over his shoulder, then turned his attention to the bedroom. He bit his lip and frowned. Wei Ying looked, too, and laughed. Turpentine had curled up right in the center of the bed, mussing the comforter as she burrowed in. “Perhaps that’s for the best.”

If nothing else, Wei Ying was pleased to hear that Lan Zhan sounded disappointed about a delay as well.

And he was maybe a little bit glad to have time to figure out exactly how he was going to blow Lan Zhan’s mind in return since he didn’t have any applicable skills at the ready for such an event. To distract himself momentarily, he asked Lan Zhan what he thought about the performance.

This turned out to be the wrong question to ask or the most correct one ever, because before Wei Ying knew it, they were talking through every artist in China that might have had an influence on h i d d e n f r a g r a n c e and Lan Zhan was as animated as Wei Ying had ever seen him, talking about the guqin he’d trotted out tonight like it was a revelation, which, apparently it was.

“Nobody does that,” he said, adamant. “Almost nobody anyway. Here, I’ll—” And then Lan Zhan was pulling up another playlist and maybe half the pot of tea went cold while Wei Ying listened, but that was okay if only Lan Zhan would keep talking.

“Lan Zhan, why did you go into art dealing?” he asked once there was a lull and they were sitting there at Lan Zhan’s table, quietly listening to some band Wei Ying had never heard of over Lan Zhan’s truly divine sound system. Sure, sometimes Lan Zhan talked about the guqin like he was missing out on something, but Wei Ying never truly understood until right now just how much it must have cost him not to pursue his interest in music further.

Lan Zhan’s mouth opened and closed again, clamped tight as his brow furrowed. Then, breaking Wei Ying’s heart a little bit, he said, “It’s what my family has always done,” like that explained anything at all. Well, of course it did, but Wei Ying wanted more for Lan Zhan than this rigid brand of filial piety he insisted on enacting. He did exactly what his family asked of him when it was asked of him and heaven forbid he ever step too far out of line.

Sometimes, it felt like he only stepped out of line for Wei Ying.

“Do you enjoy it?” Wei Ying asked. “If you could do anything at all, would it be this?”

Lan Zhan’s throat bobbed as he swallowed and his hand tightened around his mug. He lifted it, sipped, grimaced, and set it back down again. “It would.”

Wei Ying didn’t frown even though he thought it was a lie—or should have been. “So what would you do if you couldn’t do this?” He leaned across the table and pushed lightly at Lan Zhan’s shoulder. “I saw the way you were watching him perform. I bet you’d have made a beautiful guqin player.” Just imagining Lan Zhan’s hands plucking at the strings, well.

“Beautiful?”

This time, Wei Ying got up and rounded the table, draping himself across Lan Zhan’s rigidly upright back. It was easier, now that it was done, to take advantage this way again, even if it was just for the rest of the night. How could he not be audacious, when Lan Zhan just rhapsodized about music long into the night with him, treating it the way Wei Ying treated painting? Lips pressed against Lan Zhan’s ear, he whispered, “Incandescently beautiful.”

“Hm.”

“You could still be if you wanted to,” Wei Ying said, happy to imagine it. “Maybe not professionally—” Though even that, Wei Ying had his doubts; Lan Zhan was capable of anything he set his mind to. “Okay, probably even professionally if you wanted it. Either way you could still enjoy it as a hobby.”

Lan Zhan shook his head, flinched when he realized that Wei Ying’s lips were right there, shook his head again, perhaps deliberately turning his face into the caress. Wei Ying couldn’t say, except to admit to himself that he took advantage of it, kissing Lan Zhan’s warm earlobe. “There’s not enough time.”

“Come on, Lan Zhan. You can find ten minutes to have a little bit of fun.” His voice wasn’t going deliberately low. That just happened naturally. But if Lan Zhan shivered lightly and Wei Ying was close enough to feel it, well, he was willing to press the advantage.

“I played a little,” Lan Zhan said. “When I was young. My mother encouraged it.”

Wei Ying’s arms wrapped around his chest, fingers clasping around his biceps. Lan Zhan didn’t talk about his mother much.

“After she died, my uncle told me I would have to make a choice.”

Wei Ying closed his eyes and breathed in deeply and exhaled slowly. The next time he saw Lan Qiren, he might not be quite as respectful as he’d been at that lecture, but Wei Ying kept quiet for Lan Zhan’s sake. What such choice would Lan Qiren ask a child to make? He could guess.

“I wanted to be closer to her,” he finished.

Lan Zhan had told him, once, after he’d drunk a little too much at some stupid event or other, that he didn’t have a personally artistic bone in his body, that he could never do what Wei Ying did and could only appreciate it from afar. Wei Ying had thought it was bullshit, of course, not least of all because he’d seen Lan Zhan’s skills with a calligraphy brush, knew Lan Zhan could recite poetry that could make a person weep, was certain of the artistry in the assured, elegant efficiency of Lan Zhan’s motion through the world. He’d poured his time and energy into developing his superior tastes and thoughts, expressed his soul through the work he did on behalf of others, but Wei Ying was sure that Lan Zhan could have reached for that personal artistry he thought he was barred from pursuing if he wanted to.

His mother had been an artist, too. Wei Ying had even seen one of her pieces—an experience courtesy of Lan Huan’s generosity, something he thought Lan Zhan wouldn’t have allowed himself to share under similar circumstances—and she’d been hauntingly good, humbling Wei Ying in a handful of strokes.

It was not simply duty to his father’s side of the family that drove him, but love for his mother. That was good.

That made him feel better and worse simultaneously. Better, because he was glad that duty was not Lan Zhan’s only motivation. Worse, because he was certain Lan Zhan’s mother would have wanted him to be happy.

“Lan Zhan, you’re established in your career now. This isn’t a choice you have to keep making.” Has nobody in your family heard of having a hobby?

He had half a design in mind to buy one for Lan Zhan himself if time was the only excuse holding him back. Painting it even, something really pretty to go with his condo, something meaningful, something that only Wei Ying could give to him, as though taking his wall space wasn’t enough because he wanted Lan Zhan’s heart, too.

Distracted by thoughts of doing just that, Wei Ying didn’t notice it when Lan Zhan grabbed Wei Ying’s wrist and rose to his feet, pulling Wei Ying along with him to the bedroom. This time, he didn’t let Turpentine remain, patting her gently until she got the hint and hopped toward the end of the bed, allowing Lan Zhan to scoop her up and set her gently on the floor to bound out into the hallway and wherever it was she decided she wanted to go next.

Fresh heat pooled in Wei Ying’s stomach and spread throughout his body as Lan Zhan backed him up to the edge of the bed. He sat heavily, holding tight to Lan Zhan’s forearms and pulled Lan Zhan onto his lap before grabbing him by the back of his head and kissing him the way he never wanted to stop kissing him. Lan Zhan moaned, low and quiet, against Wei Ying’s mouth.

Wei Ying would never get enough of the taste of that sound, the feel of Lan Zhan’s warm breath against his lips.

This time, Wei Ying managed to actually get his hands on Lan Zhan. Fingers uncoordinated and barely cooperative, he yanked at the ties on Lan Zhan’s pajama bottoms—and who actually bothered to tie them anyway, rude—and slipped his hand inside.

It wasn’t so different from touching himself except for how it was ten times better to feel Lan Zhan harden against his palm, to pull Lan Zhan close, his free hand wrapped around Lan Zhan’s shoulder as Lan Zhan pressed kisses into his neck, biting, sucking, gentle kisses, one after the other like even he didn’t know what exactly he wanted to do. Though arousal tugged at Wei Ying, it was easy enough to ignore it in favor of making Lan Zhan feel good.

That was, after all, the whole point of this, wasn’t it?

“Lan Zhan,” he whispered into Lan Zhan’s hair, like it was some great secret. “Lan Zhan, what do you like?”

Lan Zhan jerked and shuddered as Wei Ying’s hand tightened around him, thumb swiping over the head, and he whined again in the back of his throat, muffled against Wei Ying’s neck. “This. This is… good.” He made another sound, trading away the noise to Wei Ying with abandon and Wei Ying wasn’t above admitting he was greedy for it, wanted as many of Lan Zhan’s sounds as he could have, already cataloging them in the back of his mind.

But ‘this’ was an inexpert hand job, Wei Ying’s rhythm thrown off every time Lan Zhan shifted even the slightest bit or groaned in frustration or simply reminded Wei Ying that holy shit, this was Lan Zhan, he was touching Lan Zhan, this was real.

Lan Zhan’s hands scrabbled for Wei Ying’s back, straining the fabric of his own t-shirt, threatening to ruin the shape of the collar irrevocably. He used Wei Ying’s shoulder to muffle himself, no longer even kissing his skin, so far gone.

“Lan Zhan, you’re amazing,” Wei Ying said as he stared down at Lan Zhan’s heaving back, bending forward to press his lips against the top of Lan Zhan’s shoulder blade through his cotton t-shirt, neck and back aching from the stretch of the angle, not that he gave a single damn. Any pain would be worth this. “You’re beautiful. You—”

And then he was the one using Lan Zhan’s body to stifle his words, pressing lips to warm, flushed, sweating skin, radiating the scent of his body wash, a scent that was, by now, inexorably linked in Wei Ying’s mind to Lan Zhan himself. He couldn’t—there were words that wanted to fly from his mouth that wouldn’t do, had no place here, might destroy the fragile balance between them if he spoke them. Words like ‘I like you,’ and, ‘no, I love you,’ and, ‘I worry I’ll always be in love with you.’ Words Lan Zhan didn’t deserve to be laden down by. Words which had never been easy for Wei Ying to say anyway because he hadn’t had any practice, when there was nobody else he wanted to say them to.

When Lan Zhan’s hand closed around him in turn, catching him entirely by surprise, he bucked upward into Lan Zhan’s touch, pleasure shooting straight up his spine in counterpoint to Lan Zhan’s sure grip, and came, also by surprise, lips precariously close to Lan Zhan’s temple as he groaned in relief.

“Fuck, Lan Zhan,” he said, jerking Lan Zhan off inelegantly, needing to feel Lan Zhan’s orgasm as badly as he needed his own, more badly even. Lan Zhan’s pleasure was vital to him. His own… what did his own matter? “Fuck, tell me what I’m doing wrong. I—”

And then Lan Zhan stilled, tension coiling in his body as he pulled Wei Ying into a deep, messy kiss that ached and, and—

And Lan Zhan came, hot and spurting, spilled right into Wei Ying’s hand and fuck, it was maybe the sexiest thing that would ever happen to Wei Ying and he hadn’t even gotten to see it.

When Lan Zhan tried to climb off of him, unsteady, Wei Ying pouted and tried to tug him back, except all Lan Zhan did was pull off his t-shirt to swipe at Wei Ying’s hand and then his own before throwing it across the room. He clambered up the bed and pulled Wei Ying along with him, yanking the comforter and blankets out from beneath them.

Wei Ying awkwardly crawled between the sheets and watched as Lan Zhan did the same. Could they—did Lan Zhan want to… Wei Ying wasn’t certain of the protocol here. Li Wenfang hadn’t opened his fool mouth to discuss what happened afterward and whether Lan Zhan might welcome Wei Ying’s touch now that they were—were done.

So soon?

It felt like a dream already, the details slipping from his grasp.

Fuck it. He crept closer to Lan Zhan, reaching out to touch Lan Zhan’s exposed body, fingers ghosting lightly over Lan Zhan’s stomach. “Is this okay?”

Lan Zhan looked over at him and then nodded slowly, shifting a little bit closer to Wei Ying, too, putting his arm out so Wei Ying could nestle against Lan Zhan’s side. Lan Zhan’s arm curled around his back and settled against his waist, thumb stroking back and forth, back and forth, endlessly.

With his ear pressed against Lan Zhan’s chest, he could hear the quick, steady beats of Lan Zhan’s heart, soothing for all that they didn’t slow, not until Lan Zhan finally relaxed into sleep with the light still on.

Wei Ying remained awake, fearful to waste any moment that remained to him, but even he succumbed eventually, losing a fight he was never going to win.

Perhaps that was the joke of his life. This was never, ever going to be a fight he could win.

But he could put up a good front, pretend for a little while longer that it was possible.

When Wei Ying awoke, the lights were turned off and the filmy drapes had been drawn over the windows, gentling the light that managed to filter through as he blinked his way to consciousness. The bedroom door was slightly ajar and from outside of it, he heard the indistinct sound of movement through the rest of the condo. Turning his head in that direction, he was immediately presented with a distinctly furry little face staring at him from the pillow, close enough to Wei Ying’s that he almost sneezed as her fur and whiskers tickled at him. At the last moment, he succeeded in defeating the urge, pinching the bridge of his nose, and instead grabbed Turpentine and cuddled her to his chest.

“Hey, what’s your Lan Zhan up to, huh?” He craned his neck, but there was no alarm clock and his phone was… somewhere. “What time is it?”

But Turpentine of course didn’t answer and only snuggled under Wei Ying’s chin instead.

Affection clawed at his throat and lodged its vicious talons in his chest. He stretched and pushed himself upright, careful to keep a steady hold on Turpentine’s soft, fuzzy rump. Half the bed was made as best it could be given Wei Ying’s presence in it still and that only succeeded in shredding him up even more, the meticulous care Lan Zhan showed and his willingness to bend a little for interlopers when he could just as easily have woken Wei Ying up and pushed him out the door. Getting out, he did his best to make his own side—ha, the arrogance, rather: the side that wasn’t Lan Zhan’s—match, but even that was a failure.

Giving over the bed to Turpentine’s care, he followed the clattering noises to find Lan Zhan in the open kitchen area. His back was turned and there was soft, traditional guqin music playing over the sound system. A hint of the spices Wei Ying favored scented the air and made his mouth water and his stomach gurgle.

Every cell in his body ached to race up behind Lan Zhan and squeeze him from behind, but his better senses prevailed. It could be a hazard and anyway he didn’t know what would be welcome in the light of day.

His phone sat on the table, screen dark, and he quickly scooped it up. Only eight-forty. And yet he must have slept better than he had in ages, even though he wasn’t used to sleeping with others and, uh, might have kept Lan Zhan and himself up late last night.

Uncertain whether Lan Zhan had noticed him or not, he took a seat at the table and simply watched Lan Zhan work. He was as meticulous in this as he was in everything, every motion smoothly elegant and refined down to its essence. Just as Lan Zhan could have made a beautiful musician, he might equally have made a beautiful chef, a beautiful anything, even if he wound up a beautiful art dealer.

Did that truly satisfy him the way it gratified Wei Ying? How else might they have come to know one another, drift closer and closer into one another’s orbit until they were this entwined with one another? Where would the artist, Wei Ying, be without his art dealer, Lan Zhan? Could he have slipped a key into the door of any other Lan Zhan’s apartment and not so subtly snuck treats to his rabbit or abuse his balcony or sleep in his bed?

Was it fair for him to question how that weighed against Lan Zhan’s sense of fulfillment in himself, his happiness? Even if Wei Ying could do none of those things, wouldn’t it have been better for Lan Zhan to do as he wished?

“Good morning, Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan said finally, not even turning around, answering one question for him.

He did this with everyone he brought home, he had to remind himself, as that affection swelled again, too big for him to fully contain it. How could they not all fall in love the way Wei Ying fell in love? No wonder Li Wenfang wanted another crack at Lan Zhan. Maybe he intended to woo Lan Zhan for real and all Wei Ying could do was sit here and fret about whether he should hug Lan Zhan or not. Maybe he would be able to succeed where Wei Ying would fail.

“Morning, Lan Zhan,” he answered, feigning a more chipper mood than he was truly experiencing at the moment. “Can I help?”

“That’s not necessary,” he answered, bringing over plates and bowls, chopsticks, and a cup of tea. Really, Lan Zhan was perfect. How was it that he hadn’t picked someone to settle down with yet? Anyone would be lucky to have him.

As soon as Lan Zhan was close enough, Wei Ying dared to hold Lan Zhan’s wrist, wrap his arms around Lan Zhan’s arm. “That was good, right?”

“Mn. Very good.”

Wei Ying drew in a deep breath and closed his eyes. He could be brave, couldn’t he? Sure, maybe Lan Zhan didn’t repeat performances with others, but possibly… possibly he could make an exception? He didn’t fuck people he knew either and Wei Ying already managed to break through that barrier. He had to try for a little while, didn’t he? If Lan Zhan said no, that was fine. It couldn’t hurt him more than he would hurt himself in the end. “Would you… can we do this again?”

Gently, Lan Zhan pulled his arm free, but no matter how gently he did so, it still stung. And then Lan Zhan lifted Wei Ying’s chin with one finger and searched Wei Ying’s gaze. “Do you want to?”

“Of co—” Except what Wei Ying wanted was immaterial. He’d already gotten everything he could have rightly expected. “Lan Zhan, I care about what you want.”

“I would like that,” Lan Zhan said, “if you want it.”

Wei Ying sighed. That wasn’t the effusive answer Lan Zhan wouldn’t have given anyway, but it was still not quite what Wei Ying wanted to hear.

It was the best he was going to get. It was a yes. It was greedy to want more.

“Who wouldn’t want to?” Wei Ying replied to cover for the slight disappointment he felt. It wasn’t Lan Zhan’s fault that Wei Ying wanted assurances, that Wei Ying suddenly wanted very desperately to monopolize his time, wanted Lan Zhan to want it regardless of Wei Ying’s feelings on the matter.

Lan Zhan didn’t have a good answer for that. He couldn’t. Because everyone would and he was too humble to say as much. Wei Ying knew that all too well.

“How soon?” Lan Zhan asked instead of giving voice to any other concerns he might have had.

Now, Wei Ying thought. Tonight, tomorrow. Every fucking day of the week. But he had responsibilities, too, and he didn’t want to scare Lan Zhan away and Jiang Cheng would kill him if he tried to beg off from the plans he’d already made for the weekend. “Next week?” He winced at how far away that was, how lackluster. “Jiejie’s coming into town. Unless…” Oh, Jiang Cheng would absolutely roast him alive, but it wasn’t like Lan Zhan was a complete unknown to Jiang Cheng. What better opportunity would it be to have Lan Zhan come over and get to experience jiejie’s cooking? He’d only talked it up at every opportunity before. It wasn’t even a sex thing; he’d thought for years it might be nice for Lan Zhan and jiejie to meet and it just never worked out before. “We’ll be making dinner together on Saturday. You could come if you’d like. And then maybe afterward we could…”

Lan Zhan’s eyes widened slightly before his expression settled again. “I don’t think that’s appropriate.”

Was it inappropriate? Based on Wei Ying’s own feelings, it felt natural. They were friends even if now they were something else, too. But if Lan Zhan didn’t feel the same way, of course it would be awkward. He should have known, shouldn’t have asked. “You don’t have to. It was just an idea. I could come here afterward?” He stared down at the table, glaring fiercely and wishing he wasn’t such a stupid and impulsive child. They fucked a couple of times and now Wei Ying wants to invite him home to hang out with his family? What the fuck was that? He just sounded needy. “We’ve sometimes had friends over before and I thought…”

“You really want me to join you?” Lan Zhan asked, grabbing the pair of chopsticks he’d laid before Wei Ying, fussing with them in a way that suggested that squeezing the life out of them was a viable possibility before he replaced them by the bowl he’d set before Wei Ying. “As friends?”

Not as friends as such…

“Only if you want to. Jiejie’s cooking is a once-in-a-lifetime experience. Or… a once a year experience. Twice if you’re lucky. But it’s not… you don’t have to.” Great. Way to make it weird, Wei Ying. “Like I said, we can just…”

“What about Jiang Cheng?” Lan Zhan asked, a little sharp.

Wei Ying blinked.

“Won’t he…” But Lan Zhan seemed unable to explain what it was about Jiang Cheng. Jiang Cheng was crabby, sure, but he wasn’t some kind of obstacle, not one that Wei Ying didn’t know how to navigate anyway. He was saved by the sound of the stove’s timer beeping in complaint and took the out it provided with alacrity if the suddenness with which he approached it was any indication.

Though this was yet another thing Wei Ying wanted to ask about, he wasn’t afforded the opportunity because suddenly Lan Zhan was shoving noodles and pickled slivers of various vegetables, a few dumplings, even tofu into a bowl for him and then handing him a bottle of chili oil and pepper flakes and Wei Ying just wasn’t sure what to do at this point when Lan Zhan was so studiously going back into the kitchen area to pour more tea.

The food was, of course, delicious, maybe a little on the bland side, but with the liberal application of chili oil and peppers, it was perfection itself even by Wei Ying’s reckoning. And knowing it was Lan Zhan who made it only made it even better. Then again, knowing Lan Zhan did this for everyone undermined it slightly, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan said, once they were both finished eating. “Let me know when you want me to arrive. I’ll be there.”

Wei Ying grinned, triumphant, locking away his concerns that he was coming on too strong, and said, “Jiejie’s cooking is amazing. You’ll like her so much.” Wei Ying reached across the table to grab Lan Zhan’s hand. “Lan Zhan, thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me for this,” Lan Zhan said, quiet.

But of course he did.

The thought of them meeting buoyed him through the tea Lan Zhan prepared and afterward, even when melancholy threatened to steal his happiness from him while he brushed his teeth. The night had been like a dream and Wei Ying didn’t want to wake up from it ever. But as he stood by the front door, dressed again in his freshly laundered clothes, still crisp and cool from their time spent on the clothesline this morning, uncertain what the protocol was, he knew he had to. “Thank you for breakfast and for…”

God, but he didn’t want to leave. Except even if he didn’t, Lan Zhan would have to go anyway.

“I had a good time,” he finished, awkward.

Lan Zhan took hold of Wei Ying’s hand between both of his, inspecting Wei Ying’s knuckles and fingers and palm. “As did I.”

Wei Ying fought the urge to giggle like a sheltered, innocent youth. Lan Zhan’s touch was soft and earnest enough to tickle and he felt so light for once, even with the hint of sadness that clung to him.

Better to focus on more important things, bring it back around to reality. “When would you like me to start on your walls? I’ll probably need a week or two to complete it and part of the time you probably won’t want to sleep there.”

“Whenever you want,” was the answer Wei Ying expected and it was the answer he got and he wasn’t at all disappointed by that either, not even when Lan Zhan adopted that professional veneer of his.

“I’ll get primer and the paint today, then, and get that done. I’ll be as quick as I can be so you’ll be able to…”

“Able to…?”

“You know,” Wei Ying said, flushing, “make use of your room.”

“Right.”

“It’s going to be great,” Wei Ying said uselessly, not able to find an elegant way out of this home that he never wanted to leave anyway.

Lan Zhan nodded. He still had hold of Wei Ying’s hand.

“I had such a good time, Lan Zhan,” he said again. It was really important to Wei Ying that Lan Zhan know that. “You’re great.”

Lan Zhan nodded again and only then did he let Wei Ying’s hand go. “Thank you, Wei Ying.”

And… huh. Well. That was okay. He didn’t need to hear Lan Zhan say the same about him. That was just childish and stupid. Wei Ying already knew Lan Zhan liked him. They never would have gotten this far if he didn’t. Too bad Wei Ying couldn’t be quite as low-key about it as Lan Zhan was. Every moment he remained he felt like he was exposing too much of himself to Lan Zhan.

“I should go,” Wei Ying said, “uh, now.”

Lan Zhan didn’t stop him as he reached for the door; he didn’t stop him as he opened the door; he didn’t stop him as he strode into the hallway; and he didn’t stop him as he strode toward the bank of elevators at the end of the hall.

He didn’t stop him at all and when Wei Ying looked back, the door was shut.

It didn’t mean anything, Wei Ying told himself. He’d gotten what he wanted, more than. It didn’t have to mean anything.

“Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying called as he unlocked the door and shoved his way inside, awkwardly hauling the heavy cans of paint he’d picked up along with the handle extender for the rollers. His backpack was stuffed full of tarps and tape and the fluffy paint rollers themselves. He kicked the door closed and mentally apologized before rushing past to the bedroom, which of course had to be closed, too, because nothing could be easy, could it? Dumping it all in the hallway, he hesitated as he reached for the handle. “Lan Zhan?”

He knocked lightly, convinced he was about to commit an indiscretion somehow, catch Lan Zhan doing something—

Slapping his own face lightly, he scoffed. “Stupid,” he said. “He’s not home.” But even being certain of that, he knocked again. No answer. Because he wasn’t here. Obviously.

It still felt incredibly illicit to turn the handle and push the door open.

Lan Zhan must have made the bed after Wei Ying left, because it was in perfectly pristine order now, unlike the shoddy job Wei Ying had done, and it was all going to waste, because as Wei Ying bent down to pick up the paint cans, a little golden-furred demon hopped past him and jumped up onto the bed, mussing it.

“Aiya, Tiny!” he called, depositing them just inside the door. “You can’t be in here right now!”

In retaliation, she sprang from one end to the other and back, stopping to look at Wei Ying, tensed and waiting for him to make a move. As soon as he did, she jumped in a circle and then stopped again, waiting. When Wei Ying brought his bag in and she did it again. “I can’t believe you’re teasing me like this, Tiny. I thought we were in this together.”

When he approached the bed, she jumped to the other side. When he tried to sneak around behind her, slow and quiet, she darted away, too smart and playful for him.

“Tiny! I can’t paint these walls while you’re here! I’m gonna beat Lan Zhan up for leaving you out of your hutch.” Except no, he wasn’t. This was Tiny’s home, too, and she could be out of it if he wanted her to be.

He finally sat down, cross-legged, by the end of the bed, listlessly dragging his hand back and forth across the quilt while she watched him, suspicious. “Tiny,” he crooned. “Teeny Tiny. Turpentine…”

Taking to drumming his palms against the bed, he’d finally nearly gotten her close enough to him to get her in his arms. “There’s a good girl,” he said, sweet. “You’re so well-beha—”

The front door opened, heralded by the metallic jingle of keys jostling, and then Turpentine was gone, jumping down from the end of the bed to dart behind the headboard. When Wei Ying crouched down to look, he could see her staring back with those mischievous little eyes of hers. God, it was clean even back here, not the slightest bit of dust clinging to the edges where wall met floor. “Tiny!”

His gaze caught momentarily on a hook that had been screwed into the back of the headboard, small, but serious looking. The hook faced downward and Wei Ying had no idea what it might possibly be for.

Footsteps approached the bedroom and Wei Ying popped his head up, bracing his arms on the bed, donning as innocent a smile as he could manage in case it looked like he was snooping. “Your child is a menace, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Zhan stood there, silent, until he finally approached the bed, placing his laptop bag on the quilt. He knelt next to Wei Ying, placing all of his weight on his hand, and then he huffed in what might have been the only example of a laugh Wei Ying had ever heard come out of Lan Zhan’s mouth. If he’d known what was about to happen, he’d have cherished the moment more.

He was suddenly very aware of how close Lan Zhan was.

“Turpentine,” he said, not quite scolding, tapping his fingers lightly against the floor.

“Oh, sure,” Wei Ying replied as she wriggled out from behind the bed to all but throw herself into Lan Zhan’s palm. “She behaves for you. What am I, then?” Pouting, he sat back on his heels. “I thought we shared something special, Tiny.”

“You do,” Lan Zhan assured him. Picking Turpentine up and holding her against his chest, he patted her lightly between the ears. “I’ll make sure she’s secure so you can work.”

“I’ll just keep the door closed. It’s fine. You’ve got plenty of windows in here for ventilation. You don’t need to put Tiny in rabbit jail just for me.”

Lan Zhan surveyed the room and then Wei Ying, ignoring him utterly. “Would you like help?”

Watching Lan Zhan stretch and flex as he primed his own walls was exactly the sort of thing Wei Ying desperately wanted to see and it was the last thing he would be able to take at the moment. “Nah, you’re paying me for the labor, too. Don’t mind my presence. Pretend I’m not even here.”

Lan Zhan frowned at him and retreated from the room with Turpentine as Wei Ying breathed a sigh of relief at the reprieve. It was short-lived, that relief, because suddenly Lan Zhan was back with a footstool and a look of determination in his eyes as he closed the door behind him.

Great. Good. Awesome. Just… wonderful. Lan Zhan here in his bedroom with Wei Ying and the door was closed and now the only thing Wei Ying wanted to do was reenact that fantasy of pinning Lan Zhan to a paint-splattered wall.

Lan Zhan then proceeded to open the windows, letting the cool air in. Wei Ying regained his senses and frowned in turn. If Lan Zhan wanted to be stubborn, Wei Ying could be stubborn, too. “You can stay, but you’re going to do whatever work you were planning on doing.” He pointed at the laptop bag. “No excuses.”

With the way Lan Zhan held his jaw, he expected a fight, but all he said was, “Fine.”

Wei Ying hadn’t thought this through very well because, uh, there wasn’t a desk in here for Lan Zhan to sit at. So when he pulled his laptop from his bag, he wound up sitting on his bed, long legs stretched out, back against the headboard. With his focus on the screen, Wei Ying couldn’t help but gape a little at the sheer domesticity of it. What the fuck was wrong with him that even this could threaten to pull him inside out?

Tentatively, Wei Ying got to work, trying to accept that Lan Zhan was in here with him while he yanked tape from the roll, the sound loud and disruptive. It couldn’t be conductive to Lan Zhan’s work, but he didn’t raise any complaint about it either. Though Wei Ying tried to mitigate the noise, he didn’t always succeed and winced a few times when he failed. Still, Lan Zhan didn’t berate him.

This was, maybe, the most exquisitely torturous string of moments he’d gone through in his entire career. He already hated these preliminary steps anyway, but wasn’t quite gauche enough to try to pawn it off onto the baby artists who sometimes tried to score a chance to join Burial Mounds, an utterly laughable possibility because it wasn’t the sort of collective you joined willingly, at least not in the past.

It was a little bit easier though, with Lan Zhan here, to calmly and methodically go through the necessary steps, forcing patience on him through his mere presence.

“Let me know when you need me to move the bed out of the way,” Lan Zhan said.

Wei Ying jumped at the sudden break in the silence, even though the disruption was a gentle, quiet one. “Shit,” he said, heart pounding furiously. “I mean…” He looked up and realized he’d basically already covered the entirety of one of the walls with primer, leaving only a small section of it where it met the wall where Lan Zhan’s bed was. “Uh.”

Lan Zhan climbed to his feet and tugged on the bed, pulling it aside as though it was nothing and dragging it closer to the windows.

That… that definitely shouldn’t have been as sexy as it was, right? Especially not with how nonchalantly he was doing it? God, he’d rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt. His forearms tensed so beautifully as he shifted the bed. Was that a little bit of straining going on in the shoulders?

With that not-at-all distracting thought in mind, he finished taping up that wall, too, and got the primer down in nearly record time, desperately needing to be out of this room and somewhere a little less fraught.

If he expected things to be any better once he was done, warm all over from the exertion and proximity to Lan Zhan, then he was in for a disappointment. Wiping his hand across his forehead and turning to tell him he was done for the day, he found his expectations immediately and irrevocably dashed.

It was like Lan Zhan wasn’t anticipating the possibility that Wei Ying would look to him immediately, because there was a naked expression of want on his face that only shuttered once Lan Zhan lifted his eyes from Wei Ying’s body to take in his face. Awkward arousal sprang warm in Wei Ying’s stomach and spread through the rest of him. Despite being dressed in his most god-awful, ratty attire, hair plastered to the back of his neck even with the high ponytail he’d put it into, for one moment, he felt like the most desirable man in the universe, overwhelming in its intensity and impossible.

It wasn’t that Wei Ying had never had people look at him before. Sometimes, someone or other did get it into their heads that he was attractive and expressed as much to him. As flattering as it could be, he never understood it or felt it in return. It never got under his skin. Now, though. Now…

He understood far too well and he wasn’t prepared in the least.

If people went around like this all the time, it was a wonder they managed to accomplish anything, because all Wei Ying wanted to do was throw himself into Lan Zhan’s arms to be manhandled as Lan Zhan saw fit and—

And his features went entirely blank so quickly that Wei Ying almost, almost doubted he’d seen it at all. But he knew what he saw! Lan Zhan wouldn’t have looked so different now if it hadn’t been there. And it was flattering as fuck, but also Wei Ying wasn’t sure how he was supposed to keep himself upright when his knees felt so weak in response. But Lan Zhan was just standing there, staring at him, and the longer neither of them moved, the stupider Wei Ying felt, until he was ducking his head and scrubbing his hand through his hair, pulling the ponytail loose, and laughing awkwardly to lighten the mood except that was the last thing he wanted when the only thing he wanted was for Lan Zhan to keep looking at him like—

Lan Zhan’s hands were suddenly pressed against his cheeks and his tongue was prying open Wei Ying’s mouth and Wei Ying made an embarrassing noise, those weak, traitorous knees buckling slightly, like all of the strings holding him up had been cut and the only thing keeping him upright was Lan Zhan’s touch on his skin.

Still holding tight to him, Lan Zhan dragged him across the room to the bed and pressed him into it, his own body plastered against Wei Ying’s as he held Wei Ying down by the wrists, grinding their lower bodies together in quick, frantic bursts. Wei Ying could have wept for how good the friction felt. Each drag of fabric, the heat of Lan Zhan’s body, even the outline of his erection threatened to push Wei Ying over the edge, the suggestion of it somehow even hotter than anything else could have been in that moment.

He flexed his hands, opening and closing them, and Lan Zhan only gripped him tighter. “Lan Zhan.”

It was over quickly, embarrassingly so, but if he was an embarrassment, then so was Lan Zhan, because he wasn’t that much slower at finishing than Wei Ying. He sighed against Wei Ying’s neck, kissed and bit up his throat to his chin and jaw, swallowed Wei Ying’s gasping breaths.

It was enough to make Wei Ying feel yet again like the hottest thing on the planet and he was a little embarrassed by how much he actually liked it, how much he wanted Lan Zhan to want him.

No fucking wonder Li Wenfang was entranced.

“Lan Zhan,” he said again, simply because he wanted to hear the rumble of Lan Zhan’s answering, “Hm?”

“You’re gonna kill me. I’m disgusting and you just—” He did that. Right here. His quilt was going to need a wash. There was a very good chance he’d gotten the ugly matte gray primer all over it, not to mention the sweat in his hair, and Lan Zhan didn’t seem to give a single shit about it, holding himself up on those truly spectacular arms of his to look down at Wei Ying. His hair was falling into his eyes, casting shadows across his forehead and nose. How was Wei Ying supposed to survive that? Quiet, he pushed Lan Zhan’s hair back, watching it fall again, and said, “Lan Zhan.”

“You’re not disgusting,” Lan Zhan said, still straddling him. “You’re—”

Wei Ying groaned and pushed himself up onto his elbows before gesturing down at himself. “Disgusting. I’m a mess. How am I supposed to go back to Burial Mounds like this?”

Though Lan Zhan frowned, he did seem to give Wei Ying’s question its full consideration. “Don’t.”

Wei Ying’s heart flipped in his chest. “What?”

“Don’t go back to Burial Mounds tonight. Stay here.”

“Lan Zhan, that’s too kind.” Okay, maybe kind wasn’t the right word given the reason the offer was being put out there to begin with, but it was courteous. Too courteous. If Lan Zhan kept offering to let him stay, he might get used to it the same way he got used to barging in whenever he wanted to. There was only so much advantage he could take of a situation before it got out of hand. “Where would I even sleep? You’re not gonna want to stay in here and your couch might be stupidly big, but it’s not that big. Just—maybe you can lend me some clothes?”

Lan Zhan’s gaze sharpened, gold eyes darkening.

“I’ll bring them back?” he tried.

Huffing, not a little impatient, Lan Zhan swung his leg over Wei Ying’s lap and stood. He was so much more put together than Wei Ying that even if he was walking around with a wet spot—hot, somehow!—he managed to appear elegant and composed, shameless in the most quiet way possible, fearlessly confident in what he’d just done.

It was intoxicating to witness and when Lan Zhan brought him sweats and a t-shirt he was still caught up in staring. “Stay for dinner at least. I’ll run the wash.”

It wasn’t a good idea. None of this was a good idea, but Lan Zhan had swept him up in the moment with his stupid hands and his stupid body and his stupid, stupid mouth and now he felt cast adrift except for how Lan Zhan was reeling him back. “Lan Zhan…”

“Please.”

Wei Ying opened his mouth to decline, but… but he was pretty sure Lan Zhan had never asked him for anything in that tone of voice before. And the way he was looking at him, so beseeching, Wei Ying didn’t understand it, but he couldn’t say no either.

He knew he should. It would have been better if he did. One of them should have known better than to milk Lan Zhan’s politeness for all it was worth, but the refusal shriveled on his tongue.

“Okay, Lan Zhan. I’ll stay for dinner.” That was the best he could do, the extent of his strength to deny himself.

Restraint was necessary here. For Lan Zhan’s sake and his own. Sure, it might have felt bad, forcing restraint on the situation, but it was Wei Ying’s responsibility, too.

These days, Wei Ying didn’t get many opportunities to see both his siblings at once, usually only when they all returned home for various holidays and even then it sometimes didn’t work out—normally because of Wei Ying, it was true, and the fact that sometimes he couldn’t stomach the thought of Mo Xuanyu or Wen Ning and Wen Qing being stuck alone at Burial Mounds while everyone else visited family or friends elsewhere—but occasionally, he did manage to wrangle a weekend with the both of them. Sometimes he and Jiang Cheng visited jiejie in Qingdao, but city life wasn’t really his speed and he refrained when he could get away with it; they were noisy and distracting, the cities his siblings preferred, though Jiang Cheng had chosen to stay behind to be nearer to Wei Ying and the rest of his family. Cities offered too much and exacted the commensurate payments in return.

Wei Ying wasn’t eighteen anymore. It wasn’t exciting to waste the best parts of himself on bars and nightclubs and experimental theater and gallery openings conducted after midnight, risking a run-in with the police and all the stupid shit most of his cohort and he used to do to feel like they were sophisticated and smart, risking disaster for no better reason than because they didn’t have any experience yet.

He liked it this way better. There was enough culture to feel not wholly disconnected from the rest of the world and he didn’t have to worry that somebody would demand his presence every night at some stupid event or other.

And now he was sitting with Jiang Cheng outside of the train station, waiting for the weekend to truly begin.

“You could at least pretend like you don’t love A-jie more,” Jiang Cheng said, snappish, as he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “It’s blatant favoritism. Would you be this excited to see me?”

“Hush,” Wei Ying answered, attention drifting from his phone to the stream of people spilling out onto the platform outside the train station proper. Of the two of them, nobody could deny that Wei Ying’s eyes were better. He’d spot jiejie even before she texted to tell them she’d arrived. He always did, which was why he wasn’t driving. Possibly also because Jiang Cheng was desperately into being the driver at all times. “You’d sell me out for jiejie in a heartbeat.”

“Who wouldn’t?” Jiang Cheng answered.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying answered immediately, without even thinking about it. Of course, Lan Zhan wasn’t far from any of Wei Ying’s thoughts these days. It was like the best sickness of all time except for how it sometimes overwhelmed him. Or, well, it always overwhelmed him, but it felt awkward all of a sudden to have said anything when this was all so startlingly new. He’d seen Lan Zhan yesterday and the day before. How could he have time to miss him already? And yet, he did. Miss him.

There must have been something in the way he said Lan Zhan’s name, because Jiang Cheng’s head whipped around and his eyes narrowed. “Lan Zhan,” he said, as though Lan Zhan was just some distasteful guy Wei Ying knew vaguely and not, you know, the love of his life or anything. “Wei Ying, what are you doing?”

“Nothing! I’m not doing—”

“Wei Ying!” Each syllable was whip-sharp as he leaned close and stabbed Wei Ying hard in the shoulder with his finger. “You can’t say his name like that and pretend I’m an idiot. What the hell happened?”

Wei Ying’s heart pounded hard against his chest. “Nothing! Nothing happened.”

Jiang Cheng thunked his head against the headrest and sighed in disgust. “I’ve told you before that you shouldn’t mess with him. What? Did you finally get up the nerve to ask him out and he turned you down?” Jiang Cheng made a sucking, disapproving sound. “Asshole.” Then he slapped Wei Ying’s shoulder right where he’d stabbed him, sending a fresh ache through him. “You should’ve known better. Was he nice about it, at least?"

Wei Ying couldn’t actually bring himself to be offended on his own behalf that Jiang Cheng would make this assumption, even though it kind of hurt, too. The fact that it was an assumption he might have made himself did nothing to soften the blow. “Hey!” He slapped back at Jiang Cheng’s shoulder. “I did ask him out.”

Jiang Cheng’s mouth fell open, but before he could issue any sort of complaint, Wei Ying added, “And he agreed. And on top of that, we had a good time.”

It was a rare occasion when Jiang Cheng could be struck genuinely speechless and Wei Ying wanted to savor it, take a picture or something, so he did, grabbing a quick shot with his phone, blurry and ugly. He’d have to come up with a suitably pretentious caption and send it to jiejie. Then he thought about it: would Lan Zhan even want it to be known that they went on a date? The fact that he was okay with having dinner with his family might have suggested a commensurate acceptance of it being known that they’d dated, but it didn’t follow as a matter of course.

“Jiang Cheng, don’t say anything, please,” Wei Ying said suddenly. “I shouldn’t have—” Except he wasn’t even sure what Jiang Cheng had heard in his voice to guess in the first place. It was just a stupid joke.

“What? Is he trying to keep you a secret or something?”

“Aiya, Jiang Cheng,” Wei Ying said, dismissive. Even Wei Ying wasn’t quite that cynical about it. Being private and being secretive were two entirely different things. “What’s your problem? I just don’t know… I don’t know what this is yet. I don’t want to…” God, he’d been impulsive suggesting that Lan Zhan should join them. He could smack himself for that impulsivity. “Just shut it, okay? Also, I invited him to dinner with jiejie and us tomorrow.”

He refused to grimace even as Jiang Cheng squawked, indignant, at the news. “We get to see her by ourselves once every few months and now you’re bringing Lan Zhan into it? What the fuck, Wei Ying? Are you gonna tell me you’re getting married next? Might as well blindside me all at once!”

“Overreacting much?” Marriage? Really? Who wanted to marry Lan Zhan? “Lan Zhan is my friend. We’ve had friends come over for dinner with jiejie before.”

“Yeah, not friends you went on a date with! It’s weird. And anyway, fuck that guy. He’s the reason you—”

That… did not sound good. Jiang Cheng didn’t ever stop himself from speaking about anything. If he was cutting himself off… god. What was Wei Ying missing? And why did he always have to miss something? “Jiang Cheng?”

If Lan Zhan was uneasy, too...

“Nothing. It doesn’t fucking matter. You made your choice.” Jiang Cheng threw a filthy look his way. “A long time ago.”

That didn’t make any sense. “What choice?”

“Don’t make me say it. You know what choice.” Jiang Cheng crossed his arms.

“I sincerely don’t.” At least, he didn’t remember making any choices that involved Lan Zhan that had any bearing on his relationship with Jiang Cheng.

“Then you’re a moron,” he replied. “If you don’t know, I’m not going to bother telling you. Figure it out for yourself for fucking once.”

“Jiang. Cheng. You’re just being an ass on purpose now. If I’m supposed to figure it out, it’s never gonna happen. So you might as well punish me now before jiejie gets here. I’m willing to take my lumps for whatever imaginary slig—” It wasn’t entirely fair to taunt him probably, but it was effective. He didn’t even get to finish spouting bullshit before Jiang Cheng was caught.

“Imagi—Wei Ying! You—! You fucking picked him okay. Over us.” Jiang Cheng set his jaw, staring out the window. “Back when… we would have helped you. Jie and I would have helped you back when—when you set up Burial Mounds. You didn’t even tell us what was happening until after it was all done.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. This? This was why Jiang Cheng was pissed? Ancient history? Now Wei Ying was the one who was pissed and that didn’t happen easily. Wei Ying turned toward him, wrenched him around by the shoulder. “Because I didn’t want to make you pick sides!” This was not the way he wanted to start the weekend with his siblings, but, well. He was really in it now. “If you think your mother wouldn’t have been furious…”

“I don’t care. You didn’t even give us the chance, but Lan Zhan knew all about it. Lan Zhan was there the whole time to make sure you didn’t starve or die or make every dumb fuck decision in the book.”

“Jiang Cheng…”

“Do you know how mortifying it was to find out that I should’ve been keeping closer tabs on you from that fucking robot?” He ripped his arm out of Wei Ying’s grasp. “He scolded me in the middle of a goddamned parking lot for not being there for you. The nerve.”

Wei Ying’s stomach sunk and he felt cold all over. He had so many questions. When the hell did they meet in a parking lot? Why would Lan Zhan do that? How come neither of them ever said anything? Seriously, a parking lot? Where were they both parking back then that they’d ever even run into one another? “Jiang Cheng—”

“I punched him.”

Fuck. Where the fuck had he been when this was all going down?

“Is this why you’re…” He’d always known, on the rare occasions when they saw one another, that relations between them were frosty, but he’d always chalked it up to two awkward, unapproachable people not getting along. He hadn’t thought it meant anything more than that. Neither of them said anything.

“He’s a prig,” Jiang Cheng spat, “but I think the punch is water under the bridge. Anyway, if he’s dating you, I’m gonna—”

Jiang Cheng wasn’t going to do anything. Before Wei Ying could stop himself, he was saying in a rush, “Jiang Cheng, I’m in love with him. I love him. I didn’t—it wasn’t a choice.” It felt so good to say the words. Just this once. Even if Jiang Cheng was staring at him like he was going to stroke out. “He was inevitable and yes, we went on a date. And I want him to meet jiejie. I don’t think we’re dating exactly though.” He looked at Jiang Cheng, really looked at him, appreciated that he felt like Wei Ying had abandoned him. There was a time when that was probably true, back when he was still working through how to be himself outside of the Jiang family’s double-edged kindnesses. Back then, he needed to be away from Jiang Cheng and he’d done so. But things were better now.

“You’re actually admitting it now?” The fight went out of Jiang Cheng all at once and he slumped back against his seat. “I’m going to kill him,” he said, too casual, “if he hurts you.”

“He won’t.” When everything went wrong, it will be entirely his own fault, he was sure. “Jiang Cheng, please. You’re my favorite people in the world. You don’t have to get along. I won’t make you spend every waking second with him. Just—please. One time.”

It would probably only be the once anyway.

“Shut the fuck up,” he said, cranky. “Ugh. Fine. Just—no PDA, okay? Or pet names or whatever it is you do now.”

Wei Ying snorted. They’ve done a lot of things by now that were different than before, but none of them related to pet names. Although now Wei Ying was left to wonder exactly what Lan Zhan would do if Wei Ying dropped one on him. The thought made him laugh a little and that, in turn, earned him a very severe stink eye from Jiang Cheng.

“Jiang Cheng, are you…”

“If you ask me if I’m sure after I just said it, I’m going to punt you out of this car and not let you back in.” In the interminably awkward silence that followed this particular conversational bomb got dropped, he asked, “Did you… are you two really dating now? Like for real?”

Wei Ying sighed. If only he knew the answer. “I don’t know? Not really.”

“I don’t know if I should congratulate you or not,” Jiang Cheng said gruffly. “You don’t sound all that happy about it, you know? I’d have thought you’d be crowing to the rooftops if you managed to convince him to actually go out with you.”

Fuck, when did Jiang Cheng actually manage to develop emotional perception? And why did it have to be at such a troublesome time?

“What is this? My didi is actually concerned about my happiness?” Wei Ying sniffed theatrically and clutched his hands to his chest. “I’m happy about it, okay? Just nervous.” Ha. Understatement of the century. But he was in it now and had to see it through to the nowhere ending it was heading toward.

“Yeah, well. Fuck that. You’re an annoying shit, but he’d be stupid not to like you anyway.” He looked at Wei Ying askance. “Do you hear me?”

Wei Ying blinked to rid himself of the prickling sensation behind his eyes and prayed that the drippy, sentimental feeling blooming in his chest would die a thousand deaths already. Luckily, he caught sight of jiejie’s wonderful face in the crowd, followed by twin notifications on his phone and Jiang Cheng’s and was suitably distracted from this entire mortifying ordeal.

There was no room in this car for prickly or drippy.

“Anyway, time to grab jiejie. Be right back!” And then he booked it out of the car like a coward, rushing across the road between other cars so he could reach her all the sooner.

All the while, he tried to school his features. If Jiang Cheng was able to guess, then jiejie would be even more likely to figure him out. This was yet another thing he hadn’t considered too deeply when he put out the invitation, but he refused to take it back now and could only maybe hope Lan Zhan himself would need to cancel and save him from further embarrassment and infamy.

“Jiejie!” He waved at her from halfway across the concourse and sprinted toward her. When he was close enough, he pulled her into a hug and then grabbed her bag from her shoulder. Though it was light enough, he still wanted to help her in whatever way he could.

“A-Ying!” she said back, squeezing him tight to her.

A whole weekend with jiejie and Jiang Cheng and none of the weirdness that goes along with going back home to see Uncle Jiang and Madam Yu and he was going to get to see Lan Zhan. What could be better?

Wei Ying wasn’t nervous. Not in the slightest. Not even when he fussed like a particularly agitated butterfly in Jiang Cheng’s kitchen while jiejie very kindly didn’t give him the boot and not when he complained that Jiang Cheng sucked at cleaning up after himself and not even when he actually decided to do something about Jiang Cheng sucking at cleaning up by scrubbing down the bathroom and vacuuming and picking up Jiang Cheng’s random shit that he proceeded to dump onto his bed because there was no where else to put it.

His heart definitely didn’t climb his throat when Lan Zhan messaged him to say he was here and again when he opened the door right as Lan Zhan’s hand was raised to knock.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said to Lan Zhan’s actual face, a face he hadn’t seen in two whole days and was even more beautiful than he remembered. He’d dressed in slacks and a sweater that Wei Ying hadn’t seen before but looked soft and elegantly understated, a shade of blue somewhere between a pale blue and gray. It looked lovely against Lan Zhan’s smooth skin and Wei Ying suspected it would look even better on Lan Zhan’s floor. Most of Lan Zhan’s clothes looked better there. Wei Ying had empirical evidence to back that up.

Not that. Uh. Wei Ying should be thinking about that right now.

Fuck, he was thinking about it.

“Come in, come in.” And then he noticed the boxes in Lan Zhan’s hand and rolled his eyes. “Here, give me those,” he added, chiding, noting the pretty wrapping and the hard thunk of each box. “For jiejie and Jiang Cheng, right?”

Lan Zhan nodded, removing his shoes and setting them on the rack by the door. “Jiang Cheng’s gonna be mad.” He searched Lan Zhan’s face for signs of their dubious history, but there were none. “What is it anyway?” He could already see Jiang Cheng complaining about Lan Zhan thinking they weren’t close enough or something and being offended as a result, but that was a problem for future him to deal with. It would be easy enough to shield Lan Zhan from Jiang Cheng regardless, especially since he’d already embarrassed himself by confessing to Jiang Cheng.

Ugh. Still the stupidest thing he’s ever done.

“Chivas,” Lan Zhan said.

Huh. Lan Zhan was preternaturally scary when he wanted to be. If Wei Ying had to choose something to bring Jiang Cheng, he might have picked something along the same lines. Plus, Wei Ying would be able to filch some, too. As far as whisky went, Chivas wasn’t so bad. “Okay, maybe he won’t be mad about this, but I’ll handle it. You didn’t have to bring anything.”

Lan Zhan just stared at him, stubbornly blank faced about the whole thing.

“Ugh, Lan Zhan. So proper. Just. Sit down. Relax. Jiang Cheng’s stomping around somewhere. Can I get you some tea?”

Lan Zhan took the seat Wei Ying indicated and shook his head, hands on his knees, posture perfect.

Wei Ying rolled his eyes and took Jiang Cheng’s gift back to his room and then took jiejie’s gift into the kitchen. She was still finishing up and though Wei Ying itched to help, he knew she’d just bat his hands away, so he refrained. He placed the wrapped box on the far side of the counter, away from where she was working, and poured a cup of tea from the pot they’d been working through themselves throughout the afternoon.

Jiejie turned, a smile already gracing her features, and glimpsed past him to the doorway that separated the living room from the kitchen. “Was that Lan Zhan?”

“Yes! And he brought you a present!” Wei Ying pointed at said gift.

“He seems sweet,” she said. “He didn’t have to do that. You told him that, right?”

“Haha, ah. I might have forgotten to mention it.” At jiejie’s look of vague consternation, he raised his hands. “Everyone else is so casual around here—” Or broke. “None of us think of it. We just mooch food off of one another and call it movie night. Knowing him, he’d have done it anyway.”

She tapped at a plate of dumplings and harrumphed lightly, clearly unimpressed with Wei Ying. “Take these out to him.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Wei Ying answered, saluting, grabbing up the cup of tea and the plate. And then he was slipping back through the door, affection flooding him when he found Lan Zhan in the exact same position only this time Jiang Cheng was standing across from him, arms crossed as he gritted out a courteous greeting to Lan Zhan. Once he glimpsed Wei Ying, though, he sagged in relief and then darted around the couch to approach the kitchen.

“Be nice, Jiang Cheng,” Wei Ying said. “He brought you liquor.”

“He shouldn’t have! What is this? Mom’s house? Does he think he’s better than me? Being the bigger person?” Eyes narrowed, he shook his head. “I’ll show him.”

“How to be the bigger person? I’d love to see it,” Wei Ying replied.

Though Jiang Cheng grumbled, he didn’t say anything further beyond making a hissing, disapproving sound and shaking his head again. Wei Ying bit back a smile and approached Lan Zhan, placing the tea and plate on a coaster and mat respectively. Jiang Cheng had insisted on them earlier, but Wei Ying was dubious and believed it was entirely because he’d gotten annoyed that Wei Ying was complaining about the contained chaos of Jiang Cheng’s space and was exacting revenge by turning into a stickler.

“Lan Zhan, I know what you said, but have some tea anyway.” He then sat heavily next to Lan Zhan, maybe a little closer than was strictly necessary, but Lan Zhan didn’t say anything to stop him, not even when Wei Ying’s hand crept over his hand on his knee to squeeze once lightly before retreating again to pick up the plate and hold out the plate of dumplings. “And jiejie sent these out for you.” He wafted it under Lan Zhan’s nose when he didn’t seem appropriately convinced. “You don’t want to disappoint her, do you?”

Lan Zhan took one and bit into it delicately, chewing the requisite number of times, and swallowing daintily. Wei Ying watched him the whole while, perhaps a bit too avidly, but he didn’t care, not when Lan Zhan was staring down at the half-eaten dumpling with something akin to awe on his face.

“Good, huh?” Wei Ying said as pride welled in his chest. Of course jiejie would manage to leave Lan Zhan metaphorically speechless.

He popped the second half in his mouth with a little less elegance than the first and Wei Ying couldn’t help but laugh a little, leaning into him because he was the best, really, and he was here and even if Jiang Cheng wanted to beat him into the ground, he was being good, too, and Lan Zhan liked jiejie’s cooking and Wei Ying couldn’t imagine anything better in this moment than all of those things happening at once.

He was lucky and grateful and there was no way in this life that he’d ever be this lucky or grateful again.

Even when Jiang Cheng called them to the table with a bark of displeasure, Wei Ying was grateful.

“Come on, Lan Zhan,” he said, pulling him upright by the forearm before gathering Lan Zhan’s tea and the plate of dumplings.

Wei Ying wanted to grab hold of Lan Zhan’s hand, wanted to smile at him, wanted to tease, but he was keenly aware of Jiang Cheng’s scrutiny as they sat at the table. It wasn’t quite poisonous, Jiang Cheng’s look, but it might get there if Wei Ying doesn’t behave himself tonight. And he did want to leave them with a good impression. Jiejie’s never met Lan Zhan, but Jiang Cheng had apparently punched him in the face once.

There was… a lot to overcome.

“It’s good to finally meet you, Lan-xiansheng,” jiejie said, smiling fondly at him and then Wei Ying from across the table. Next to her, Jiang Cheng was comparatively frosty. “A-Ying talks about you often. I’m sorry we haven’t been able to acquaint ourselves sooner.”

“Likewise,” Lan Zhan replied, dipping his head slightly. “Lan Zhan is fine.”

“Lan Zhan.”

Wei Ying beamed happily, unable to hide his joy at having his favorite people all in a room together. In his exuberance, he took hold of Lan Zhan’s hand beneath the table. It was pressed into a fist against his thigh, so Wei Ying worked his fingers free before slipping his own between, squeezing slightly before patting his knee with both of their hands entwined. He thought nothing of it until he let go in order to drop food onto Lan Zhan’s plate and found Lan Zhan’s gaze following him, an unreadable expression on his face. Haunted was probably an exaggeration, but Wei Ying couldn’t think of a better word for it.

Had he overstepped?

He’d… probably overstepped.

“Here, Lan Zhan, eat up,” he said. To cover his sudden embarrassment, he picked up Lan Zhan’s chopsticks and handed them to him, but instead of mitigating the awkwardness, he only felt it even more acutely. This time when he smiled, it felt wobbly.

After an agonizing five seconds, not that Wei Ying was counting, Lan Zhan took the chopsticks and time resumed its normal course. Jiejie took the lead on the conversation then, Jiang Cheng occasionally grunting in agreement or disagreement, interjecting about this and that. She must have remembered Wei Ying once mentioning that Lan Zhan didn’t like to speak while eating, because she largely left him alone, sensing when it might be appropriate to include him, so thoughtful that something in Wei Ying threatened to break at the care she was taking with him on Wei Ying’s behalf.

Once the meal was done, more tea was made and Lan Zhan remained a whole hour, polite to a fault, before he began to make equally polite excuses for why he needed to leave. It was entirely right by anyone’s accounting that he shouldn’t think to overstay his welcome, but to Wei Ying, he would never be unwelcome, so it seemed too soon to say goodbye. Still, he accompanied Lan Zhan back to his car, kicking at the ground the whole time like a schoolkid not yet ready to leave the playground. “You don’t have to go so soon, Lan Zhan.”

“You rarely get to see them together,” Lan Zhan replied, eminently sensible. “You should spend time with them.”

There’s still some time tomorrow, Wei Ying didn’t wail out. I want to spend time with you.

“It was a good night, Wei Ying,” he said, holding his keys in his clenched hand. “Thank you for inviting me.”

Meanwhile, Wei Ying fidgeted without quite being able to meet Lan Zhan’s eyes, shy and dissatisfied with leaving it at this. Why hadn’t he tried to take Lan Zhan on another normal date? One where Lan Zhan might sweep him into a kiss at any moment or he might feel comfortable doing the same? Standing here now, he felt like a gulf existed between them, too difficult to cross, but impossible not to.

Sick of himself, he darted in and pressed a chaste kiss to Lan Zhan’s mouth. “Thanks for coming, Lan Zhan!”

Lan Zhan’s hand grazed his elbow as he took a step back.

Ask me to come home with you, he thought. Ask me to stay the night again. “Message me when you get home, yeah?”

Lan Zhan nodded and opened the door to his car, sliding inside.

Before he could close it again, Wei Ying grabbed hold of it. He couldn’t leave it like this, not with what he knew now. “How come you never told me Jiang Cheng punched you?”

Though Lan Zhan’s eyes widened briefly, the rest of his face remained carefully neutral, even bland. “It didn’t seem necessary,” he said. “He made his position clear.”

“Yeah, but…”

“It’s in the past. I bear no grudge toward him.”

“Why not? Why would you agree to come?”

“Because he’s your brother.” Drawing in a deep breath, he shrugged. “And were our positions reversed, I may have wanted to do the same to him. I came because you asked me to.”

“Lan Zhan?”

“Good night, Wei Ying.”

“You’re just—not going to explain that? At all? It’s kind of out of character, Lan Zhan. I can’t imagine you wanting to punch someone.”

Lan Zhan’s lips thinned and he looked down the steering wheel. “It would have been infuriating to me to know someone else was in a position to help you when I could not. Luckily, it was not me who was forced into that position.” He finally looked back up at Wei Ying and Wei Ying could tell, even in the shitty, shady twilight evening, that he would get nothing more out of Lan Zhan about it. “Good night,” he said again. “I’ll message you.”

Of course he did precisely as Wei Ying asked, sending the text exactly twenty-two minutes later and nothing else, disrupting Wei Ying right in the middle of the argument he was winning with Jiang Cheng over who would do the dishes. I’m home. Rest well was all it took.

Wei Ying couldn’t be disappointed when he was the one who brought it on himself, nor when he lost because Jiang Cheng simply walked away while Wei Ying stared down at his phone, returning only later with three little cups and some of the whisky for each of them.

Jiejie stood next to him at the sink as he washed and rinsed the dishes. She was smiling fondly at him, exchanged a brief glance with Jiang Cheng. He was struck all over again by how lovely and wonderful she was until she shoved the knife into his chest and he remembered that no blow could strike as true as the one that came from family. “He likes you, A-Ying.”

Oh. That was—no, they really didn’t need to talk about this. Would you look at that stubborn grain of rice in this bowl? Better focus on that. He scrubbed just that little bit harder, until the ceramic squeaked beneath his touch.

“A-Ying!”

Crap. Wow, this Chivas really was okay, wasn’t it? Maybe he should have some more. Snapping his fingers at Jiang Cheng, he pointed at his cup. “What’s not to like? I’m adorable.”

“You are,” jiejie agreed.

Jiang Cheng let out a harsh breath, splashed more liquor into Wei Ying’s cup, and said, “Leave it off, jie. You didn’t spend half the day on the train yesterday just so I’d have to hear you talk about Lan Zhan now.” He glanced significantly at Wei Ying and might as well have said, you owe me one. “Tell me how Jin Ling’s been doing instead?” Grinning viciously, he added, “And when are you going to get him a dog?”

As far as rescue attempts went, it sucked, but Wei Ying wasn’t stupid enough to complain either and willingly suffered through a good twenty minute discussion of bred dogs versus shelter mutts in order to get out of discussing Lan Zhan instead. He wasn’t sure it was a fair trade in the end, but it was the trade on offer.

Lan Zhan liked him? Pfft. Of course he liked him. She was just seeing the years of affection they’d built up with one another. That didn’t deserve the sly, thoughtful glances she kept throwing his way through the rest of the night.

But he couldn’t like him. Not even jiejie could conjure that reality into existence for him.

i’d like to start painting your walls today fyi

Sunday was a good day to start such a thing. Nothing wrong with Sundays, especially when the primer would be perfectly dry by now and Lan Zhan would probably be busy attending some event or other because that was what he usually did on Sundays and Wei Ying wasn’t a coward who wanted to avoid—assuming enough of the base coat dried quickly enough—the possibility of trying to begin the finer detail work while Lan Zhan was there to watch, nope, not at all.

Wei Ying stared down at his phone, watching the little dots as he waited for Lan Zhan’s reply, feet tapping against the kitchen floor. Mo Xuanyu and Wen Ning were in the kitchen with him, chattering away, little more than the soothing background noise that made up Wei Ying’s life right at the moment because his whole focus was his phone.

His whole focus was his phone until suddenly it wasn’t anyway.

“Hey, earth to Wei Ying!” Mo Xuanyu said, snapping his fingers almost directly in Wei Ying’s face, blocking his view of the screen.

The phone fell from Wei Ying’s grip to clatter on the counter top that stood in the center of the kitchen floor and he almost fell backward off his stool in response. “What the fuck?” he said, grabbing his chest, heart stumbling around behind his rib cage. His phone dinged and he immediately scooped it back up, only to have Mo Xuanyu pluck it from his fingers.

“Nuh uh. You’re gonna answer me first.”

“No,” Wei Ying said, stubborn. He didn’t even know what the question was.

“Oh, Lan Zhan, eh?” Mo Xuanyu said, quickly looking away because even he wasn’t shameless enough to read further. That apparently didn’t mean he was willing to hand the phone back though, because he kept it just out of reach, glaring wide-eyed at Wei Ying until he sat back down. As soon as Wen Ning heard Mo Xuanyu invoke Lan Zhan’s name, smart man, he skirted the counter and muttered a farewell and a promise that he’d see them later. Wei Ying waved in acknowledgment of his one true friend in the world and then narrowed his eyes at Mo Xuanyu, who was unfazed. “Are you going to Mianmian’s performance tonight?”

“That’s really why you’re interrupting me right now?” Wei Ying launched himself at the counter, swiping out. He had height and reach on Mo Xuanyu, but he didn’t have speed when there was a large, wooden island between them, so he failed utterly in his attempt to liberate the phone. He really did want to work on Lan Zhan’s room, but he was equally sure that he wouldn’t get out of this conversation without a capitulation. Anyway, it was Mianmian, who was his friend, dropped performances seemingly at random, and didn’t do them very often these days. He couldn’t miss it and maybe wished he’d known a little sooner so he could have planned better, but the only one who was lucky enough to find out early was Wen Qing and she always stayed tight-lipped about it, so he couldn’t exactly complain.

There was probably still time to work on the mural and go if Lan Zhan said it was okay, get the base color down. Sure, he might have to contend with Lan Zhan actually being present for it, but at least the chances of getting embarrassingly wrecked were slimmer if they both had some place to be afterward. Probably. He really hoped. Or perhaps he didn’t. Embarrassingly wrecked sounded nice. Maybe if he brought spare clothes, it would be okay. “Yes, I’ll go. Hell. Give me my phone back.”

Mo Xuanyu, never one to not be a dick when he felt the need, tossed it at him, nearly clobbering him in the eye with it. “Bring your boyfriend.”

Wei Ying stilled. Mo Xuanyu stilled. They looked at each other and Wei Ying wanted to die inside. It was a little bit awful.

“He’s probably already going if word’s getting around,” Wei Ying pointed out, strangled, clawing for normalcy. Even if he didn’t usually go out on Sundays, he would have for her because thanks to Wei Ying they were sort of friends. “And he’s not my boyfriend.”

Cradling the phone, he glanced down at the notification. When he opened the app, he was presented with an artful shot of Turpentine playing on the balcony, the late morning sun glinting from behind the distant trees. It was a pretty image, expertly composed, and Lan Zhan must have spent at least a few minutes doing the color correction himself, maybe even using the manual settings to milk the most out of the lens. It left Wei Ying wondering if this was just something that Lan Zhan did regularly without alerting Wei Ying or if he’d done it today with Wei Ying in mind specifically, believing correctly that Wei Ying might like to see a charmingly photogenic picture of Turpentine. Either way, it warmed Wei Ying to think Lan Zhan might think of Wei Ying was the kind of person he should send a picture of Turpentine to.

He realized belatedly that this might be a pathetic metric by which to measure his worth as Lan Zhan’s… whatever, but: pictures of Turpentine. Who really cared if it was pathetic?

You should rest, Wei Ying, he sent while Wei Ying was still looking at the picture.

“Wow,” Mo Xuanyu said, dragging him back to this hell-hole of a conversation. “I didn’t think he’d…”

“What?” Wei Ying flushed, barking the question out through the sudden flash of vulnerability he felt.

“I thought maybe…” Mo Xuanyu trailed off again, a troubled note in his voice that Wei Ying didn’t like.

“What did you think?”

“You seemed happier lately,” Mo Xuanyu hazarded. “I kind of just put two and two together.” He bumped his index fingers together in a way that managed to look both entirely innocent and crude to the very core. “Sorry if I came up with five. Is that why you’ve been moping since you got home from your brother’s?”

Wei Ying flushed even more violently, heat crawling up his neck as he stared down at the counter top. He couldn’t look at Mo Xuanyu without giving it away. “Lan Zhan and I are fine,” he said, awkward. “And what we did or didn’t do is none of your business.”

Where this man got his ideas, Wei Ying couldn’t begin to guess. Wei Ying hasn’t even been home enough for Mo Xuanyu to tell if he was happy or moping or what. Besides, who went from zero to boyfriends in the span of, like, four days? Wouldn’t that have been a little sudden? Mo Xuanyu was overreacting.

“Oh. Is that why you’re moping then?” Mo Xuanyu rested his head on his chin, elbow against the counter. “You wanted to do something?”

“Mo Xuanyu! This really isn’t your business. You shouldn’t even know about…” He couldn’t even say it out loud really. The date.

Mo Xuanyu raised his hands. “Hey, I don’t spread rumors. I just hear them from time to time. That makes me one brand of asshole, but not the other. And to be fair, it’s kind of hard for all of us to have missed the fact that you were in conference with Wen Qing over fashion decisions for, like, an hour on Wednesday. Don’t worry. I’m not going to invade his privacy when he’s been good to us.” He shrugged. “It was interesting to listen to, but you’re right. It’s not our business.” His mouth pulled in a grimace, teeth briefly flashing. “I just don’t get why you’re looking so sad,” he answered, defensive, “or why you’re so eager for a message from him if this isn’t you wanting to be boyfriends. If he’s being a dick—”

“Lan Zhan isn’t being a dick and I’m not sad.”

“Okay, okay. He’s not a dick and you’re not sad. Point exquisitely made. You’re okay, though?”

“I don’t know why you’re expecting me to not be,” Wei Ying answered, genuinely confused about where this was coming from. As far as he was concerned, he’d been acting perfectly normal today except for his usual dissatisfaction when jiejie has to return to Qingdao. And being with Lan Zhan was great anyway. It had been great before. It was great now. And it would continue to be great until Lan Zhan decided it wasn’t great any longer at which point they could all revisit this question. Or not. Because Wei Ying would rather die than ever broach this topic with anyone ever under any circumstance.

But for right now, Lan Zhan was sending pictures of Turpentine to him when Lan Zhan had never done that before and that was enough for him.

“Jiang Cheng took jiejie back to the station a little while ago,” he offered. “It sucks when she has to go home.” That was as good a reason for him to be looking sad as any. If that was, in fact, how he looked. He wasn’t convinced Mo Xuanyu wasn’t just fishing for dirt to hoard.

“Uh huh. Look, I know you’re a grown man and you can do what you want, but… be careful, huh?” Mo Xuanyu said. “You wouldn’t be the first person who’s gotten his heart broken over something like this. If he really is as disinterested in dating as it seems, then—”

Wei Ying’s glare might never match his brother’s or Lan Zhan’s, but it was still pretty good and he leveled it with precision at Mo Xuanyu until he backed up dramatically and waved his hands around, cutting himself off for one moment. “Just—fine. Sorry. Speaking from experience though? There’s only one person’s reaction you can control in this situation now that you’ve opened this can of worms: yours.”

“What does that even mean?”

“It means you’re going to have to put up or shut up eventually,” Mo Xuanyu said, “and it’s going to suck if you’re right, but if you’re not…”

“Mo Xuanyu, I know you mean well, but it’s really not like that. No putting up or shutting up necessary because nothing’s happening or is going to happen. We’re friends. I took him to a concert. I want to make sure we stay friends after everything is said and done. That’s all.”

Mo Xuanyu’s eyebrow climbed his forehead. He seemed to struggle with what to say, not quite meeting Wei Ying’s eyes before he found his resolve. “Li Wenfang thinks differently.”

Bile crawled up Wei Ying’s throat. “Li Wen—he told—what did he tell you?”

“He didn’t tell me anything specifically, but he said that I should keep an eye on you. I was going to stay out of it because I thought—well, I thought maybe it was a good thing that you were putting yourself out there.”

Ha. Really fucking rich. Li Wenfang could mind his own damned business. And so could Mo Xuanyu. How ridiculous was it that even his stupid, imaginary rival was trying to look out for him now?

Wei Ying scrubbed his hand over the back of his head, jaw, and lastly, his mouth, muttering a few choice curses into his palm. “Who else knows?”

“About your crush? A lot of people probably, but that’s just common knowledge. The date? Uh… Wen Qing and Wen Ning, me, and whoever you told. You being a complete clusterfuck about your life? Everybody. My point is you might as well see this through. Best case, you get everything you wanted. Worst, you’ll burn everything to the ground, but at least have a way out of this black hole you’ve got yourself sucked into. You could start by asking if he wants to go with you tonight to Mianmian’s performance. People tend to like that sort of thing.”

Maybe that was good advice for someone who hadn’t progressed as far with Lan Zhan as Wei Ying already had. As it was, it was basically useless except as a gesture. But. He kind of did, in fact, want Lan Zhan to know he wanted to spend time with him. Even if it was pointless.

Except—

If they went together, there might be more wagging tongues and, unlike Mo Xuanyu, they wouldn’t mostly keep it to themselves. Maybe Lan Zhan wouldn’t want to be put into such a position. Maybe it was selfish of Wei Ying to try.

Maybe Wei Ying should stop being so afraid. They weren’t boyfriends, but they could still act like themselves in public, which wasn’t so very different from how he wanted to act anyway. And being bold, even if it was accidental before, had worked out well for him in the past.

So.

He shot off a message to the effect of Asldkfjalkfsdjafe turpentineeeeeeeeeeeeee give her a pet for me Lan Zhan shes so cute!!! Then: Are you going to mianmians performance? And then he pretended that his nerves weren’t eating him up from the inside out as he waited yet again for a response that probably wouldn’t come for hours ye—

Lan Zhan responded almost immediately. Yes. Would you like to go with me?

Wei Ying nearly fell off his stool again. I was going to ask you

I would like that.

Wei Ying wasn’t sure how much of this his heart could take. Youre okay with it

Why wouldn’t I be?

Staring down at the phone, Wei Ying gripped it tight and shook it a little. Mo Xuanyu raised his eyebrow again and that was even before he started blurting words out loud. “I don’t know, Lan Zhan. You tell me.” But when he tried to type the words out, he couldn’t. Frankly, he didn’t want Lan Zhan to realize how stupid he was being about this. Lan Zhan was always aboveboard. If he said it was okay, it was okay. He could trust that.

Wei Ying?

No reason, Wei Ying typed back finally. Just checking ill meet you there after ive done some work on your walls

Why don’t we have dinner instead? And then before Wei Ying could type out a response, Lan Zhan was sending a link to a Hunan-style restaurant near the venue that Wei Ying had always meant to try but never got around to. Lan Zhan would probably hate it or find one single thing on the menu that would be to his tastes.

Oh, Lan Zhan. Always the best. And though Wei Ying should have said no, if only to be fair to Lan Zhan, he didn’t.

what about your walls

They can wait.

Okay, then. The walls could wait.

With Lan Zhan’s bedroom off-limits, Wei Ying could only wander through the rest of his afternoon in a daze. While he worked on one of Lan Zhan’s paintings, he pretended that it didn’t really seem like they were going out on a date. Where other people could see them. And not just any random people, but the people in their circles, people they worked with, who gossiped and spread those rumors Mo Xuanyu promised stopped with him, who might ask Lan Zhan just what in the hell was going on between him and Wei Ying, who wouldn’t just stop opening their traps because Wei Ying might have wanted them to.

It wasn’t a date, he assured himself, but it would look so much like one and Lan Zhan apparently didn’t care about the optics of the thing.

If I wanted to, I could pretend, he thought as he put brush to canvas just to give himself something to do between now and when he needed to meet Lan Zhan. It didn’t result in much, but he wasn’t going to berate himself when his head had launched itself into space at about the same time Lan Zhan messaged him.

And then as if by some cruel form of magic, it was time to dress to meet Lan Zhan again and he was stymied. Unlike before, he couldn’t just throw himself at Wen Qing’s mercy, both because she was getting ready, too, and also had her own date to worry about. Everyone knew better than to bother her on nights when Mianmian was going to perform.

Would it always be like this, having these feelings and wishes and hopes poured into his wardrobe, he wondered, as he stood in front of his closet, rifling through each option and discarding them all as hopeless. A thrill of nerves raced up and down his spine and caught themselves in a tangle in his chest. He kind of wished it would, if only because that meant they’d keep doing this and that was worth every bit of fear he felt in the interim.

He closed his eyes and imagined what he would have worn if it wasn’t a date and then settled on that minus the ratty jeans he might otherwise have worn even though they looked good around his ass and thighs. Even if he did want to dress more nicely, he figured that would attract more attention and questions than Lan Zhan would want.

Lan Zhan would, of course, be dressed as immaculately as always, but that was so ordinary for him that it would look strange if he wasn’t in fashionable clothing that elegantly skirted the line between formal and not.

One of these days, Wei Ying was going to take Lan Zhan somewhere really nice and clean up good for him in the process, something that would have a lot of layers to it that Lan Zhan would have to peel him out of afterward and…

And that was not conducive to getting ready, Wei Ying! Good god. Not to mention making a lot of assumptions. A small part of him missed the days when he didn’t feel perpetually on the verge of springing a boner every five seconds just because he thought about Lan Zhan. Another was terrified that his first thought presupposed they’d still be doing this at a point where Wei Ying could enact such a plan.

Grabbing his clothes, he went to the bathroom, cleaned up, grabbed the large, heavy box of paints he’d picked up for Lan Zhan’s walls so he could drop them at Lan Zhan’s condo, and found himself on the front steps of Burial Mounds with Lan Zhan parked on the street, his charmingly boring Volvo gleaming in a subdued shade of sparkling silver under the late afternoon sun.

Of course Lan Zhan looked good. So good Wei Ying almost tripped over his feet when Lan Zhan rounded the front of the car to open the passenger’s side doors, both the back seat and front because he was thoughtful like that and considerate and wonderful.

Tailored, tailored, so. Very. Tailored gray trousers wrapped themselves lovingly around Lan Zhan’s legs and he wore a soft white dress shirt with it that would have exposed his clavicles—there were at least three buttons open!—if not for the one pop of color he wore in the form of a lightweight, woven cowl-scarf-thing in blue-gray that seemed almost to shift in color as Lan Zhan moved. When Wei Ying was close to the car, he saw in the back seat on Lan Zhan’s side that he’d brought a blazer that matched the trousers.

Why was Lan Zhan so good looking and classy? Did he even recognize the trail of broken hearts he left behind so effortlessly? It was devastating. Truly devastating. And Wei Ying was willing to burn himself on that flame apparently because as soon as he was within reach, he got into Lan Zhan’s space and kissed him, a quick one, but one that Lan Zhan returned with some enthusiasm, his hand brushing the side of Wei Ying’s neck.

The box was the only thing keeping him from leaning in closer to take more.

Whoops.

“Sorry,” Wei Ying said, ducking beneath Lan Zhan’s arm where it was still holding onto the top of the back door. His knuckle briefly skimmed against Lan Zhan’s abdomen as he tried to twist himself and the box through the scant space. He glanced quickly back at the industrialized looking front of the house, still clinging to its history as an abandoned, converted warehouse before shoving the box absently onto the back seat.

All of the windows were closed, drapes drawn tight. Nobody could have seen. Wei Ying had no reason to be disappointed—in fact, he ought to have been pleased—and yet, he was. He wanted to be seen a little bit.

Patting Lan Zhan’s shoulder, he settled into the front seat.

He smiled up at Lan Zhan, dispelling his own concerns as best he could. “I couldn’t resist.”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan said before closing both doors and returning to the driver’s seat. “You look good, Wei Ying.”

Wei Ying blushed and ducked his head. He looked like he always did, he felt, but Lan Zhan managed with so few words to make him seem handsomer than he was.

When they reached the restaurant, they ate and talked and the food was as good as Wei Ying imagined it would be. Lan Zhan ordered the least spicy thing he could find and didn’t seem to hate it as he ate diligently and efficiently. Well, Wei Ying talked and Lan Zhan mostly nodded, only actually answering once he completed his meal. Wei Ying made certain to at least not talk with his mouth full.

It was nice the way spending time with Lan Zhan was always nice, his nerves burning away quickly throughout the night until he was genuinely enjoying himself, especially since he hadn’t had the chance to shove his foot in his mouth. Lan Zhan was so great. Anyone would be lucky to have him. Wei Ying would be—Wei Ying was—lucky. To have him.

“What are you thinking about?” Lan Zhan asked, setting his chopsticks down and pushing aside his bowl, not quite empty.

“I…” Wei Ying stopped and thought about it. Had he been thinking about anything really? All he had in his mind was a blank spot. “I don’t know? Nothing? This is nice. You know me. My mind wanders sometimes and I’m not always there to catch it.”

“You had a look on your face,” Lan Zhan replied, staring down at his hands where they were probably folded politely in his lap. “I thought maybe…”

Wei Ying leaned forward, curious, and weaved his fingers together so his chin could rest on them. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“No, really.” He leaned forward and shoved Lan Zhan lightly on his shoulder. “You can tell me anything, Lan Zhan. Don’t be shy.”

“I think you’re right,” Lan Zhan said. “It is nice. The expression on your face was… nice. That’s all. You’ve answered my question.”

Wei Ying had done nothing of the sort, but Lan Zhan didn’t seem interested in arguing it as he paid the bill and guided him out the door, his hand at the small of Wei Ying’s back, pressed firm and warm against his spine even through his jacket. It was so proprietary, so elegantly possessive and Wei Ying wanted more than anything for it to be real and not just Lan Zhan’s quiet gallantry in action. As they drove over to the gallery, Wei Ying pondered Lan Zhan’s earlier question in the quiet of his car. What was it Lan Zhan had wanted him to be thinking of? It seemed certain it wasn’t how nice a time they were having.

“Lan Zhan,” he said as Lan Zhan pulled into the small parking lot where a few spots remained open. A lot of people were milling around outside the front door, huddled in small groups. The one furthest from the door shared cigarettes and surreptitiously drank from a flask that was passed around. “I’m lucky.”

“What?” Lan Zhan put the car into park and then looked at him.

“I’m lucky. That’s what I was thinking about. I’m lucky to have a friend like you and you’re so good. It’s nice and I’m lucky and you’re good. There’s your answer.”

Lan Zhan’s lips might have thinned, but the tips of his ear turned pink, visible only as Lan Zhan opened his door and the overhead lights blinked on. “You’re ridiculous.”

“It’s true! You can’t just insult me when it’s the truth! You asked! Why can’t I say those things? Because it embarrasses you? Are you embarrassed?” Wei Ying spilled out of the passenger’s side and collided with Lan Zhan, who was trying to open his door again. “How can you be embarrassed by such a thing?”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan said in warning.

“Lan Zhan, you’re just going to have to deal with it. I can’t help what I’m thinking about! Why don’t you tell me what it is you’re thinking about then? Maybe it’ll embarrass me and we can call it even.”

“Does anything embarrass you?”

Though Wei Ying was desperate to take hold of Lan Zhan’s arm, he refrained, still uncertain of the boundaries that should remain in place throughout the night. “Sometimes,” Wei Ying said. “I guess you’ll just have to figure out what it is that does.”

“Hm.” That single sound dripped in dubiousness. “I’ve been thinking I’d rather be at home tonight.” Then his gaze sharpened as it fell on Wei Ying. “With you perhaps.”

Oh. Well. Um.

Damn. Lan Zhan was too good. A trickle of embarrassment did bubble through him, though it was a pleasurable, shy embarrassment, like being praised excessively except hot and inappropriate for the public. His cheeks flushed and he ducked his head, slapping lightly at the back of his neck as he laughed. “I’m sure Mianmian wouldn’t mind if you wanted to duck out early.”

It felt nice to be so bold, even if it was merely quiet words spoken as they approached the studio, which was called Rove and wasn’t one Wei Ying was particularly experienced with. Their guiding principle was a little more experimental than Wei Ying dealt in these days. And even if he did rediscover his roots, they wouldn’t have taken him based on his current clientele.

Which: fair. People did have their reputations to uphold and Wei Ying’s was all over the place. He didn’t begrudge them; there was plenty of room even in city like theirs, not quite big enough or metropolitan enough for many ambitious artists, but enough for people like Wei Ying and the rest who just wanted to work without all of the other strings and bullshit.

As they stepped inside the minimalist space—minimalist almost to the point of reckless disregard—Wei Ying searched the various clumps of people for anyone he knew.

It took only a moment to find anybody who fit the bill—Mianmian had the widest array of contacts of anyone in town—and it was, fortunately or unfortunately, Nie Huaisang and Meng Yao were the first pair he spotted and the ones Lan Zhan noticed, too, which settled it as far as Wei Ying was concerned. If they were around, then Lan Huan wouldn’t be far behind. He slipped between the other groups, nodding and waving occasionally, making gestures to indicate he’d circle back around to say hello properly, with Lan Zhan close behind him, murmuring acknowledgments of his own.

“Ah, Wei-xiong,” Nie Huaisang said as soon as they were close enough to hear one another, but his eyes, ever curious, were for Lan Zhan alone. “I was wondering if you would be coming.”

Clapping Nie Huaisang on the shoulder, Wei Ying wagged his finger in Nie Huaisang’s face. “As though I would miss Mianmian’s performance.” He glanced theatrically around the empty-walled room. Usually there were more props. “Whatever it ends up being.”

Nie Huaisang nodded sagely and flicked a brief glance Meng Yao’s way. Meng Yao, for his part, kept a perfectly cordial smile on his mouth that nevertheless conveyed the impression that he knew much, much more than he let on. That was often the case with him. Nie Huaisang, too, but nobody wore it quite like Meng Yao did. “And you, Lan Zhan! I hear you visited my own humble Ancestral Tomb recently and I didn’t even get to see you while you were there. I hope you enjoyed yourself. I tried to find you afterward to see what you thought.”

“I did. Wei Ying was very kind to invite me. The music was more than I could have imagined.”

Swallowing wrong, Wei Ying turned his head and coughed into his elbow. Did Lan Zhan realize what he was saying?

“Did you hear that, gege?” Nie Huaisang may have offered a slight, mischievous smile at Meng Yao, tinged with… something. “Perhaps we can somehow convince them to perform for an audience again in the future if even the great Hanguang-jun enjoyed it.”

“There’s something to be said,” Meng Yao replied through a bright, motionless smile, “for the exclusivity of a thing. Maybe it will be treasured all the more for being a one-time event.”

Nie Huaisang flicked open his fan. “And perhaps they are merely lazy.”

“Maybe they merely wish to do something without ego getting in the way.”

“I’d wager…” Nie Huaisang’s gaze skirted over Meng Yao’s body, “…that it’s a power trip. They get off on knowing everyone is clamoring to know who they are. Lan Zhan, don’t you wonder?”

His gaze skirted over Meng Yao’s body, which was definitely slight enough to have matched…

Oh. Oh. God, this was—Meng Yao was…? Nie Huaisang was clever and was usually subtle in that cleverness. Though he spouted nonsense, it was rarely for no reason at all and it was never quite this direct. He was being provocative for a reason. And that reason seemed to be torturing Wei Ying.

No wonder Nie Huaisang had been confident about making the necessary arrangements.

And it seemed like the dots were connecting for Lan Zhan, too. Lan Zhan’s gaze lingered on Meng Yao’s face for a long moment. “In this case, it doesn’t matter to me who they are,” he said after a moment’s consideration. “It is enough that they are willing to share their recordings.”

“Ah, Lan Zhan is very kind. Much befitting his character. If only he was so kind when he twisted my arm asking for the moon and my fan collection for the Terminal.”

Before Meng Yao or Lan Zhan could respond, Lan Huan arrived with a pair of champagne flutes in his hands and a beatific smile on his mouth. “Wei Ying,” he said, pleased. “A-Zhan. Did you come together?”

Wei Ying glanced over at Lan Zhan, relieved to see that Lan Zhan remained serene. “Yes, brother,” he said, as though it wasn’t unusual in the slightest that they might do so.

Lan Huan smiled. “How wonderful.” That smile grew slightly unfathomable when he turned to look at his companions. Though Wei Ying might not have been able to read it, the fond exasperation in Nie Huaisang’s eyes coupled with the slight warning in Meng Yao’s suggested that they were sharing some sort of message loud and clear to one another. “Perhaps I might borrow Wei Ying for a moment,” Lan Huan said, both to Lan Zhan and Wei Ying himself, somehow managing to avoid seeming presumptuous. Directly to Wei Ying, “If that’s all right?”

Oh, god. Was that a good idea? And Meng Yao was smirking at Wei Ying now, which meant… wow, they all had to know the truth. All because Wei Ying asked Nie Huaisang about Meng Yao’s stupid, too skilled alter-ego.

God. Meng Yao was almost directly responsible for—

Wei Ying did not smash his own fist into his face, but he desperately wanted to.

Instead, he nodded because to say anything else would be odd and might draw more attention than Wei Ying wanted it to. But he gave Lan Zhan a beseeching glance anyway, just to confirm whether it would be okay with him if he got ditched in light of this tragic discovery.

He remained entirely untroubled or at least appeared so as he nodded back.

Just as long as Wei Ying didn’t open his trap too wide, he might get through it okay.

“It will only be a moment,” Lan Huan assured all of them to varying degrees. Lan Zhan seemed fine, of course, and Nie Huaisang, amused. Meng Yao was Meng Yao. Lan Huan held out his arm for Wei Ying and gently guided him by the elbow toward an out of the way corner of the room. “I’m glad you came tonight, Wei Ying.”

“I wouldn’t miss out on one of Mianmian’s pieces if I could help it,” Wei Ying hedged, feeling like a liar even though he wasn’t anything of the sort. He did wish to be here for her.

“Allow me to rephrase,” he answered. “I’m glad you came tonight with A-Zhan.”

Fuck his life seriously.

“It wasn’t like it was some kind of hardship, Lan Huan,” Wei Ying said, still uncertain as to exactly what Lan Huan was trying to get at, whether he was feeling Wei Ying out for information or if there was a more legitimate reason for Lan Huan to want to speak with him. It didn’t happen all the time—Lan Zhan usually was the go-between here—but occasionally Lan Huan did have business to discuss with him. Perhaps he was just torturing him before getting to the point. That seemed to be a theme for the day.

“No, I suppose not. I just wanted to thank you for being such a good… friend to him.” Lan Huan looked briefly at him and then over his shoulder, perhaps to where Lan Zhan and Nie Huaisang and Meng Yao were standing, perhaps not. Wei Ying didn’t turn to look. Good friend. What did that mean? What did Lan Huan know? And why now when they’d been friends for years at this point?

The timing felt suspicious. The word friend sounded so, so damning.

“A-Zhan won’t tell me what’s changed, but I’ll be frank with you: I know you took him to Ancestral Tomb. It isn’t any of my business, of course, who should take him where and for what purpose. What does or doesn’t make him happy is his concern and I know nothing more than that. But I can’t help wanting what’s best for him.”

“I… would say we’re in agreement on that. I don’t want to get in the way of his happiness,” Wei Ying offered, hoping he didn’t sound as circumspect as he felt. He supposed he couldn’t be too disappointed to learn that Lan Zhan hadn’t shared any details with his brother when it seemed like everyone Wei Ying knew had guessed in a matter of moments. It was difficult to keep his cool knowing that Lan Huan knew about this. Bad enough that Nie Huaisang could guess and Meng Yao, insinuate. But Lan Huan knowing?

He supposed he’d need to be better at being discreet going forward. Though how he would do so when he didn’t know what he was doing to expose himself was a challenge.

Something to figure out, he supposed.

“I know,” Lan Huan said agreeably. “But I know he wouldn’t necessarily agree with us or even think of it. And I know you care about his happiness. If you should have anything to do with it, I just wanted to make sure you knew. He doesn’t always make his feelings clear on the matter.”

If this was a threat of some sort, it was the subtlest, most earnest threat Wei Ying had ever been the recipient of.

“You seem happier, too, did you know?” Lan Huan said, gaze keen. “I’m glad for both of you.”

“Ah ha, did I seem so very miserable before?” Wei Ying asked, teasing, but what he really wanted to know was this: did Lan Zhan? Li Wenfang’s words came back to him, the way he’d talked about how lonely Lan Zhan looked. Could Wei Ying be helping with that? Even if they couldn’t be everything to one another, perhaps these nights they were spending together were worthy on their own merits?

“Not at all.” Lan Huan looked again over Wei Ying’s shoulder, but this time Wei Ying was certain that it was Lan Zhan he was looking at. “I was also wondering, so this doesn’t become entirely about A-Zhan, how you would feel about another showing. I know it’s rather quick on the heels of the triptych you sent over, but as expected it was well-loved by a lot of people. I know it’s rather gauche to ask this when you’re already in the middle of a project, but would you consider…”

“Would I consider commodifying my feelings for the moneyed classes?” Wei Ying’s smile softened the criticism as Lan Huan smiled ruefully and a bit awkwardly back at him. Wei Ying had less room to talk than many. If he really wanted to, he could go crawling back to Uncle Jiang and Madam Yu. He wasn’t Lan family loaded, but he got by. It wasn’t as bad as what happened to some of his friends who had nobody else to look out for them, what he hoped to help alleviate where he could.

“As always you get right to the heart of the matter. If you’d rather not, that is, of course, perfectly fine with me, but I just wanted to extend an invitation to you all the same.”

“Sometimes I miss the days when everyone thought I was just a talentless hack and the only one who believed in me was Lan Zhan. My days were so much freer. Now they just complain that I’m too popular for no good reason.”

Amusement twitched at the corner of Lan Huan’s mouth.

“But for you I’ll see what I can do. Lan Zhan already has me, so I won’t do anything that cuts into my work for him, but the days are long.” The thought of having something to break up his focus on Lan Zhan’s pieces wasn’t so very bad anyway. Perhaps he could manage… something.

Lan Huan conceded with a brief nod of his head and then his attention returned to the trio behind them. “I think A-Zhan’s getting nervous that he’s had to stand by himself with Huaisang and A-Yao for so long. Perhaps we should rescue him.”

“I think you would be ideal for that,” Wei Ying answered, pleased when he managed to get a slight tinge of pink to bloom across Lan Huan’s cheeks. “Why was he the one trying to convince Huaisang anyway?”

“We always promised one another we wouldn’t bring work into our relationship,” Lan Huan said. “Sometimes, that requires A-Zhan’s intercession.”

“Sounds like a lot,” Wei Ying said, a little jealous. Any two of them wouldn’t make for a good match by anyone’s standards and yet all three of them found one another in a way that ended with Lan Huan looking so fondly at both of them that Wei Ying feared he’d choke on the overflow.

“They keep things interesting,” he said, diplomatic. “It’s worth it.”

That was a very kind way of describing it and Wei Ying found himself liking Lan Huan a little bit better than before because of it. Not, of course, that he didn’t already like Lan Huan. Who couldn’t? Even Nie Mingjue liked him and Nie Mingjue didn’t like anyone who spent any time with Nie Huaisang. Cue a lot of grief about Meng Yao.

“Are you enjoying yourself, Lan Huan?” Wei Ying dared to ask, because he was feeling too much and sometimes he couldn’t help teasing and it was nice to think about something other than the mess he was making of his own life, remember that others somehow managed to clean up their own and form something workable for them.

Lan Huan didn’t answer for a long while, finally gesturing Wei Ying to follow him back to the group. “You know,” he finally settled on, “I am.”

“Thank you for your time, Wei Ying,” Lan Huan said when they were close enough to the rest of the group to be heard.

With that, Lan Huan suggested that Nie Huaisang and Meng Yao go with him, promising Lan Zhan they’d talk later, leaving Wei Ying alone with Lan Zhan yet again. Without a buffer, Wei Ying felt shy, stupidly so. What reason did he have to be shy now?

“Is everything all right?” Lan Zhan asked, instead of voicing the question anyone else might have done. What did he want?

Wei Ying found he wanted to say something, if only to warn Lan Zhan maybe. Or just to test the waters a bit. “I… think your brother might suspect something.” His gaze flicked briefly to Lan Zhan’s face and then away again. “He said you didn’t tell him, but…”

“But?” If he was distressed, he didn’t sound like it. He remained entirely at ease here and Wei Ying tried to see that as a good thing.

“But you seem happier lately is what he said.” It didn’t hurt the way ripping a bandage free hurt, a sting and a warm ache and then relief. It was more like stepping out of a plane and waiting for impact.

“I see,” he offered, which was underwhelming to say the least. “And what do you think?”

Did what Wei Ying think even matter? Not that he even had the chance to consider speaking, because before he could answer, they were both approached by the last person on the planet Wei Ying wanted to see.

Li Wenfang. Tall, beautiful, loud-mouthed Li Wenfang. Li Wenfang who didn’t belong in this town, who barely knew anyone here except Mo Xuanyu who was elsewhere or hadn’t arrived yet. Despite the knowledge Wei Ying didn’t want to possess, he’d still been able to keep the pair of them in separate spheres of thought, but now that he was here and Lan Zhan was here and Li Wenfang was here, they collided, offering that crash Wei Ying was so very worried about.

He was different than Wei Ying remembered him from meeting him at Burial Mounds and Wei Ying couldn’t tell what was different except in the way he’d dressed: obviously intending to impress someone with tailored trousers and a sweater that skirted the line of correctly sized and too small. His assurance in himself was quiet, like the outcome didn’t even matter as long as he took a shot. It didn’t matter that Lan Zhan had turned him down; he could still smile and graciously say hello, both to Lan Zhan and then to Wei Ying, smile dimming only a little at the complication Wei Ying provided.

If Lan Zhan noticed anything amiss, he didn’t acknowledge it. “Li Wenfang.”

Wei Ying had to give it to Lan Zhan. He knew how to put the burden of awkwardness on another person when he wanted to. It was brutal how little Lan Zhan gave to him; it was almost enough to make Wei Ying feel bad.

They were, in a way, in the exact same boat, weren’t they?

“Wei Ying, will you excuse me for a moment?” Lan Zhan asked, cool and composed. Wei Ying wondered if Li Wenfang could hear the note of crisp unhappiness in Lan Zhan’s tone or if Wei Ying was just lucky enough to know him well enough to sense it. After all, Li Wenfang didn’t seem to notice anything amiss, smiling just the same as when he first came over. It was to his credit, Wei Ying supposed, that he didn’t think he’d truly won anything yet, wasn’t acting superior even though Lan Zhan was going with him.

“Of course.” He glanced around the room, trying to find an elegant way to step aside. “I’ll just go say hi to a few friends, yeah?” Maybe he’d try to find Mo Xuanyu and throttle him for not giving him a heads up.

Lan Zhan nodded distractedly and guided Li Wenfang away. No matter that Wei Ying promised himself he’d let Lan Zhan have his privacy, as he made a circuit of the room, his eyes kept coming back to them. They did look gorgeous together, both tall and elegantly sleek. Li Wenfang really managed to bridge the gap between them well, better than Wei Ying anyway, who would never be sleek nor elegant no matter how much he might have tried. By appearance alone, they fit better.

That bothered him more than it ought to have.

Each greeting he offered to various friends and acquaintances floated past him, like he was operating wholly on autopilot, every person immediately forgotten in his turmoil. When he couldn’t see Lan Zhan because someone was in the way, he moved so he could.

The whole time Lan Zhan looked serious. They might as well have been discussing anything, though Wei Ying knew what it was that truly motivated their conversation.

Every moment that passed had Wei Ying’s stomach turning more. It felt like Lan Zhan was slipping through his fingers even though he was right there, even though he knew in his heart that Lan Zhan wouldn’t do anything to purposefully hurt him tonight.

Li Wenfang… like this, Wei Ying truly sympathized with him. Surely this was his own fate looking back at him, though Wei Ying understood himself, knew he wouldn’t have it in him to fight against Lan Zhan’s wishes even once, not in this way.

It was Mo Xuanyu who found him, grabbing his arm and turning him around. “I didn’t know he was coming,” he said, breathless. “I swear. I’ll—” He spotted Li Wenfang in the crowd just as easily as Wei Ying would have found Lan Zhan. “Fuck.”

“It’s fine,” Wei Ying said, too quick. “Mo Xuanyu. They’re—”

“It’s not. He’s, well—”

“Pushy? Determined?” Me, if I don’t get my shit together? “Interested? Has good taste?” Has about as much claim on Lan Zhan as I do? “What is he, Mo Xuanyu?”

“Worse,” Mo Xuanyu said. “Confident. I didn’t know he knew Mianmian.”

“Everyone knows Mianmian.” Such a screwed up situation, Wei Ying couldn’t help but laugh. Ah, Li Wenfang. At least Wei Ying was certain he didn’t have a chance in hell either. It made it easier to relieve Mo Xuanyu of the burden of his guilt, especially since he hadn’t even known. Patting him on the arm, he said, “You’re not his babysitter. He’s free to go where he wants to go. Lan Zhan will be back soon.”

As if on cue, Lan Zhan and Li Wenfang’s conversation concluded and Lan Zhan was returning to his side, slipping next to him as smoothly as though he belonged there; he didn’t look at Wei Ying and only nodded politely to Mo Xuanyu before Mo Xuanyu darted off to corral Li Wenfang.

What Wei Ying wanted to do more than anything in that moment was tangle their fingers together and proclaim to the world that Lan Zhan was with him, not Li Wenfang nor anyone else.

That wasn’t fair to Lan Zhan though, not when they hadn’t even talked about it—when Wei Ying couldn’t talk about it for fear of what Lan Zhan would say, how kindly he’d pluck the gossamer-fine veil of hope from its place over Wei Ying’s eyes.

They existed, the two of them, in a finite space and finite time. As an artist, Wei Ying had to respect that. As a person, Wei Ying had to respect Lan Zhan.

But it would be nice, Wei Ying thought, to hold Lan Zhan’s hand and keep going out to dinner with him, switching off each time until maybe Wei Ying developed a taste for bland vegetables and Lan Zhan no longer burned his tongue on peppers and other spices, and spending the evenings in Lan Zhan’s apartment while he noodled on work and Lan Zhan played with Turpentine and Wei Ying played every shitty drama and variety show in the background that Lan Zhan pretended he didn’t notice except for how he somehow expertly followed the plots and knew every single guest on each variety show he came across and it only made Wei Ying love him even more that he should be so circumspect about such ridiculous things and then, then they would go to bed with one another, hands fitting to hips, mouths perfectly aligned, tastes and sounds growing so familiar as to be beloved. That, that would all be very nice, he thought, as he fought the blush that threatened to creep, warm, up his neck and give the game away entirely.

“I’m sorry about that,” Lan Zhan said, clipped, somehow more and less than what Wei Ying wanted, because it was an acknowledgment of something that wasn’t Wei Ying’s business at all, but not the explanation Wei Ying truly craved.

“You don’t have to apologize,” Wei Ying said, low.

“I… do,” Lan Zhan said.

Wei Ying grabbed Lan Zhan’s hands, fuck it, he didn’t care right now, held them between his own, squeezed them tightly before letting go again. “You really don’t.”

“Then I would like to. I’m here with you, not…”

“Should I apologize for your brother pulling me aside? I don’t see the difference.” Except that, oh, he did, but Lan Zhan didn’t know that and wouldn’t know it if Wei Ying had anything to say about it. “This is a public event. Of course people would want to talk to you.”

“That’s different,” Lan Zhan said darkly.

Would that that were true. But Wei Ying was selfish, not stupid. Besides, he didn’t want to be the sort who quibbled over things like this, not when Lan Zhan had come back to him. “It’s not. You’re okay, Lan Zhan. Unless you need me to beat him up for you. I’m sure I can take him. I don’t like that he put that line between your eyebrows.” Wei Ying reached up and brushed his thumb lightly over said line, smoothing it away with one gesture. And just as quickly, he pulled back. If anyone saw, they would probably chalk it up to Wei Ying’s usual manner of teasing, but it was stupid to have done to begin with. “Aha, do I need to beat him up?”

But Lan Zhan just continued to stare ahead, unperturbed by this display as he pretended to be unperturbed by most things. And before Wei Ying could say anything else, maybe ask the question he was so desperate to get across, the lights lowered and Mianmian’s latest contribution to the art world took center stage, sweeping up with it all of Wei Ying’s courage.

Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw Jiang Cheng sneaking in through the entrance just before the lights shut off entirely, but when they came back up, Jiang Cheng must have found a corner to hide in or Wei Ying was mistaken, because he wasn’t there.

Lan Zhan’s hand brushed against his several times over the course of the performance.

The minute the lights came back up at the end, before Wei Ying could process any of what just happened, Lan Zhan was wrapping his hand around Wei Ying’s wrist, all but dragging him toward the door. “Hey, I was going to—”

“Let’s go,” Lan Zhan said, and then, in yet another way that was entirely new to Wei Ying, even now that he’d heard Lan Zhan plead with him at least once before: “please.”

Well, there was no saying no to this tone. Whatever was in it… he couldn’t do it. “Okay, Lan Zhan.” He wasn’t going to be nervous; he had no reason to be nervous. “I’m all yours, then.” Even if he should have stopped and made Lan Zhan tell him what was wrong first, he couldn’t do that either. Though he should have been more used to it by now, he was helpless in Lan Zhan’s hands. They could do as they would with him. “We can go.”

Lan Zhan didn’t really talk the whole way back to his condo and, as was becoming increasingly commonplace, Wei Ying didn’t know what to say to fill the spaces even though he had years of experience by now doing just that. He didn’t think Lan Zhan was mad. He didn’t look mad. But… he’d spoken with Li Wenfang and anything could have been said and Wei Ying needed to be prepared for whatever it was.

Lan Zhan tried to open his door for him again, once he was parked in his condo’s underground garage, and tried to take hold of his arm and Wei Ying wanted to go along with it, but he had to—

He yanked his hand out of Lan Zhan’s grip and his heart took up residence in his stomach, pounding away until Wei Ying was nauseated by the feel of it. “Lan Zhan,” he said. “What’s going on?”

Waiting for a guillotine to fall might have been a slightly less fraught experience. At least with a blade, he would have known the result going into it. Wei Ying had no idea yet what would come of Lan Zhan’s answer.

Lan Zhan’s mouth opened, closed. His brow furrowed and his lips thinned and he wouldn’t look Wei Ying in the eye and there was no way he didn’t know that Wei Ying knew, but he wasn’t dropping any of the accusations that would have understandably resulted from Li Wenfang’s limited understanding of the situation, the version of events where the only thing he knew really was that Wei Ying was the kind of guy who’d call him out of the blue and ask for the salacious details of his romp with Lan Zhan. And yet, Wei Ying was the coward who wouldn’t own up to any of it either. He was standing right here and could have said something and none of the words would come because what if Li Wenfang hadn’t ratted him out, didn’t see Wei Ying as any sort of threat because what kind of threat could Wei Ying really pose, and had only wanted to say his piece?

“Come upstairs with me,” Lan Zhan said. “I want…”

“You want…?”

Huffing in frustration, Lan Zhan made another grab for Wei Ying’s hand. This time, Wei Ying didn’t deny him. He’d managed to hold it together throughout Mianmian’s performance; he could manage here, too, even though there was no one else around to see if he did fall apart. For Lan Zhan, he could do this, though his palms were sweaty and he could feel his pulse in his teeth practically and there was no way Lan Zhan couldn’t feel it, too. It was the least of what he owed him, this closeness, if that was still what Lan Zhan wanted. So he allowed himself to be pulled along, up the elevator, through the hallway, into Lan Zhan’s condo, into Lan Zhan’s bedroom, still that pale blue because someone wouldn’t let him work on it, unfinished in a damning way.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan said, voice low as he closed the door behind them, hands gentle as his fingers stroked up and down Wei Ying’s neck.

“Ha ahhh,” Wei Ying said, twisting slightly because it felt too intimate, too laden. Before, he’d always been swept up in the moment, but Lan Zhan was looking at him with intent in his gaze, heavy and curious, like Wei Ying was a puzzle to be unlocked. This time, Wei Ying couldn’t be swept up, his fears wouldn’t let him. Even so, there was no doubt in Wei Ying’s mind that Lan Zhan could feel the warmth drawing up Wei Ying’s throat beneath his touch. “Lan Zhan. What are you doing?”

What did Li Wenfang say to you?

But he didn’t have a right to ask that question, refused to be jealous when Lan Zhan had already done the work of assuaging Wei Ying earlier. How many other ways were there to interpret I’m here with you? Even Wei Ying couldn’t request more assurances than that.

“Let me take care of you,” Lan Zhan said, a shade too seductive to sound entirely earnest, and so utterly unexpected that Wei Ying choked on a laugh and a groan all at the same time. It didn’t sound like Lan Zhan at all except in its directness. All the while, his hands kept touching Wei Ying’s neck, under his chin, behind his earlobes. He scraped his nails across the nape of Wei Ying’s neck.

Wei Ying had a sudden, terrible thought: was this what Li Wenfang really meant when he’d all but outed Lan Zhan as some kind of sex god extraordinaire? As nice as Lan Zhan’s touch was—and it was very, very nice, whole parts of Wei Ying’s anatomy he wanted to ignore were standing at attention—it was… it was weird. It was weird, these words, but anything Lan Zhan did to him was good, so he didn’t know how to feel about it. “Lan Zhan?”

“Please.” That note again, plaintive and piercing. It cut through the unreality of this, put him back on more familiar ground.

Wei Ying blinked and took hold of Lan Zhan’s chin between his fingers to lift his head. It took a moment for Lan Zhan to look at him, but when he did…

Wei Ying wouldn’t have denied him anything in that moment, even though he didn’t understand what he wasn’t going to be denying Lan Zhan. Did he want to end this thing on a nice note? Say goodbye and leave Wei Ying with a parting favor? Was he riled up from Li Wenfang and wanted somewhere to put it? Just—suddenly in a bizarre mood while he tried to undo Wei Ying with a few words and a deliberate, lingering touch?

“Why?” Wei Ying asked, because he had to know if Lan Zhan was finally putting a stop to this. The rest… the other reasons that cluttered his brain didn’t matter, but he needed to be prepared for the possibility that this was Lan Zhan pulling the plug.

“Because I haven’t yet.”

“What do you call what we’ve been doing?”

The sudden, stubborn set of Lan Zhan’s jaw, so like the Lan Zhan he knew, put him at ease and something unclenched inside of Wei Ying at seeing it, flooding his body with relief. He didn’t answer, but the tips of his ears turned red, and instead he said something that made even less sense, but it didn’t sound like Wei Ying had messed up irrevocably. “I’ve been selfish.”

“Lan—”

But Lan Zhan was apparently done with this conversation because he replaced fingers with teeth and tongue, lavishing attention on Wei Ying’s poor, defenseless neck as his clever fingers pulled at his shirt. Neither act broke his concentration, though Wei Ying was certain if he himself had tried, he’d have fumbled somewhere along the way, and before Wei Ying knew it, he was shirtless and flushed and wanting so damned much. “Lan Zhan?”

But Lan Zhan wasn’t answering, just pulled him toward the bed and sat him on the edge of it. “I’ll be right back,” he said, turning away before Wei Ying could get a good look at him, which was disappointing because Lan Zhan always looked so good. Wei Ying wanted to see him. His gaze followed Lan Zhan’s progress out of the room and into the bathroom across the hall. The longest five minutes of Wei Ying’s life passed before Lan Zhan returned, focus entirely on Wei Ying again.

“Lan Zhan?” he asked, as Lan Zhan reached for his jeans to expertly work them free. Even with Wei Ying’s erection making itself known as Lan Zhan’s fingers grazed his underwear, he made it look easy.

“Slippers,” was all he said, yanking lightly at the waistband as he waited for Wei Ying to kick said slippers off.

“This is really what you want to do?” Wei Ying asked, uncertain. He thought maybe he preferred the manhandling and the dry humping to—to having this much of Lan Zhan’s attention directed on him and him alone. When Lan Zhan nodded, he sighed. “Are you going to—?” He gestured toward Lan Zhan and realized, ha, he hadn’t even really seen Lan Zhan naked before. “It’s only fair, right?”

Lan Zhan nodded and, rather perfunctorily, removed his own shirt and trousers.

Wei Ying couldn’t help but notice, somewhat disappointed, that Lan Zhan wasn’t hard at all from this. When he tried to reach out, Lan Zhan stopped him, hand wrapping around Wei Ying’s wrist, and then guided Wei Ying onto the bed, half-above him as he positioned him.

“You seemed to like it when I held you down,” Lan Zhan said, that strange note in his voice again. It sent a shiver down Wei Ying’s spine anyway. His thumb brushed over Wei Ying’s lower lip. “How do you feel about being tied up?”

“I…” Wei Ying’s mind went entirely blank as he considered it. He had liked it when Lan Zhan held him down. And he liked the thought of Lan Zhan tying him up, too, but he didn’t know for certain. No one had done it to him before, but he wasn’t about to phrase it that way, not when this already felt so fraught. “I’ll tell you if I don’t like it.”

Lan Zhan’s nod was precise as he stood and wandered over to his closet, opening the door and then crouching down in front of something for a long moment. He stayed that way until Wei Ying’s patience threatened to snap before he pushed himself up and took a pair of his ties from inside the door instead, motions quick and efficient. Ties he… wore for work sometimes. One Wei Ying had often seen and considered his own favorite, a creamy white that looked really nice contrasted with Lan Zhan’s eyes, he snapped between his fists, considering. That was going to—Lan Zhan would tie it—

What if he wore it again?

Squirming, Wei Ying could only watch as Lan Zhan came back over and took hold of Wei Ying’s wrists, pulling them over his head.

He quickly and expertly wrapped Wei Ying’s wrists with that one, like he knew Wei Ying liked it, and then formed a loop with the other, lacing it between Wei Ying’s bound hands. Pulling this one taut, he wrapped it around the sturdy looking hook Wei Ying had noticed before when Turpentine was being such a pain in his ass before and tied it off.

Before Wei Ying could think of anything beyond holy shit to say, Lan Zhan was adjusting the pillows beneath his head, neck, and upper back until he was comfortable. Or as comfortable as he could get when he was this hard already.

Whatever Lan Zhan was planning to do, Wei Ying wasn’t going to last long through it at this rate. Even just feeling his own erection brushing against his stomach was too much, the weight of it somehow obscene. His legs tensed and flexed, muscles trembling, and he had to look utterly foolish like this, trembling when Lan Zhan had barely touched him with anything besides his gaze, somehow keen and clinical, as he inspected his work.

Lan Zhan’s hand smoothed down his arm, brushed over the sensitive skin of his triceps and down his side. He repeated the gesture, sweeping over the planes of Wei Ying’s body, until he was biting his lip to keep from crying out. Nobody got this overwhelmed already, right? Other people could play it cooler? He couldn’t catch Lan Zhan’s eye with how focused as he was on Wei Ying’s body, which might have been a good thing, because his skin was warm already and he couldn’t guess how he might have looked and didn’t want to see that reflected back at him.

He didn’t dare open his mouth for fear of what else might fall out beyond the insouciant question he wanted to ask to assure himself that Lan Zhan wanted this, too, without making it seem like it was a big deal to him: do you like what you see, such a vapid question for how charged this was.

But Lan Zhan wasn’t interested in talking, no. He was apparently interested in pulling Wei Ying apart piece by piece, touch by touch. By the time he thumbed at Wei Ying’s nipple—never, he noted wildly, terribly sensitive when he touched himself—Wei Ying would have had to bite a hole through his own lip to keep from groaning.

Lan Zhan froze, eyes snapping up to Wei Ying’s face, catching Wei Ying as he tried to keep from panting pathetically. His thumb pressed harder against Wei Ying’s chest and Wei Ying couldn’t even accuse him of teasing because he didn’t even seem to realize he’d done it.

His gaze hurriedly lowered again and he resumed what he was doing, lowering his head to follow that touch with his mouth, first licking lightly, then following it with a full sweep before—

Oh, god.

Wei Ying’s heels dug into the bed, lower body jerking up, body searching for relief and receiving nothing except air and suddenly Lan Zhan’s palm against his hip to steady him and press him back into the bed.

He hadn’t thought Lan Zhan a cruel man before, but he was beginning to rethink that, because he didn’t need a hand on his hip, he needed one around his dick, but Lan Zhan was still, still focused mostly on his chest, pressing kisses into his skin, biting and sucking, sometimes gentle, sometimes not at all gentle, until he felt like a collection of bruises instead of a man, reduced to an enervated set of sensations, barely cognizant of anything beyond the feel of Lan Zhan’s lips on his skin.

“Don’t stop,” Lan Zhan said, lifting his head, lips pink and shiny from everything he was doing to Wei Ying. The reprieve did little to return Wei Ying’s senses to him.

“What?” Wei Ying replied. Half out of his mind, he didn’t know what he was doing that Lan Zhan wanted him to continue. Why couldn’t Lan Zhan just tell him for fucking once? Just once?

“You were—” He ducked his head. “You were making sounds. You stopped.”

I was what? He’d thought he was being quiet. “I didn’t know,” he said, realizing how hoarse he sounded only now. “I…”

“Don’t stop.”

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying whined. “Seriously, what did—nngh. What did he say to you?”

Lan Zhan huffed again, pinching lightly at Wei Ying’s side, following it with a nip of his teeth, the pain of it sharp and sweet, short-lived, precious, perfect. Wei Ying wanted it to linger. “It doesn’t matter,” he replied. Though his breath was warm against Wei Ying’s skin, his voice remained cool. “It has nothing to do with us.”

Doesn’t it, Wei Ying thought, crazed, loving it and hating what was happening because it felt so good, but he was so out of his depth. Each thought skittered just out of reach and even if they weren’t impossible to grasp, Lan Zhan would have driven his concerns off with sheer, stubborn will alone. Wrapping his hands around the tie, he tensed, shifting under Lan Zhan’s touch. He wasn’t even—what he was doing was—

How was he supposed to give this up?

How was he supposed to let Lan Zhan take him apart piece by piece and give nothing back? It made him no better than Li Wenfang or the others. Why should Lan Zhan think he hasn’t taken care of Wei Ying when all he has ever done—even before they started doing this—was take care of him?

“Lan Zhan,” he said, desperate, fists clenching in the soft, silk fabric. “Lan Zhan, untie me. I want to—”

I want to touch you.

But Lan Zhan wasn’t moving fast enough for Wei Ying, stubbornly kissing down Wei Ying’s hip toward his…

Digging his heels in, he pushed himself far enough up the bed to get some slack on the tie, bashing his forearm against the headboard in the process, another source of pain that only made the rest of it feel exquisite. It took a try or two, but he finally got the fabric out from under the hook, grabbed hold of Lan Zhan and twisted them both, tackled him to the bed. It probably wouldn’t have worked without the element of surprise, but Wei Ying didn’t play nice and it was worth it for the wide-eyed way Lan Zhan was staring up at him now. His chest heaved and flushed under Wei Ying’s still tied hands and the looped tie pooled on Lan Zhan’s chest in a way that was a little distracting. Wei Ying dragged it down his abdomen as he shifted between Lan Zhan’s legs.

Lan Zhan caught hold of the tie, yanked it until Wei Ying’s arms wrenched up, Wei Ying falling forward against his chest. He looked up at Lan Zhan, awkwardly sprawled across his abdomen. There was heat in Lan Zhan’s gaze, a hint of anger maybe, arousal definitely. Wei Ying could tell because Lan Zhan was finally hardening against Wei Ying, utterly unmistakable.

Wei Ying ground down against Lan Zhan once, challenging, before wriggling further down, letting Lan Zhan keep hold of the tie if that was what he needed or wanted to do.

Any other time, Wei Ying might have explored this further, but right now, he needed his mouth on Lan Zhan, fuck playing it cool or pretending. If Lan Zhan asked about it later, he could try to explain, but maybe he wouldn’t ask about it. He didn’t seem particularly interested in answering or asking questions tonight.

If neither of them said anything about it, tonight Wei Ying could keep slipping between the cracks in Lan Zhan’s defenses and preferences. He could pretend this was more than it was.

It was awkward, trying to wrap his mouth around Lan Zhan’s shaft when his hands were bound together this way, wrist pressed to wrist, arms stretched at an awkward angle above his head, but it wasn’t impossible and he did his best, legs folded beneath him, upper body bent, mouth positioned just right. Take the head between his lips, sucking lightly at the tip, swirling his tongue, he managed all of it without worrying too much about what he was doing. Multitasking was difficult like this, who could have known (everyone who’s ever tried it probably), as he tried to assimilate Lan Zhan’s taste, his smell, the whimpering sounds he was making, choked off, sad little things that Wei Ying wanted to nurture into a full-throated cry if he could, and that wasn’t including the fact that he was desperate to make it good for Lan Zhan, even while Lan Zhan kept distracting him by pulling the tie taut, disrupting Wei Ying’s rhythm just as soon as he got it figured out.

Lan Zhan’s body bucked up as Wei Ying swallowed more of him down, his cock bumping unexpectedly against Wei Ying’s soft palate. Wei Ying had enough foresight to use his elbows and upper body weight to keep Lan Zhan pinned to the best of his abilities, more awkward than if he had the use of his hands, so he wasn’t going to choke to death on Lan Zhan’s dick at least, but it still came—hah, fuck—as a surprise when Lan Zhan’s release flooded his mouth. Before Wei Ying could think about swallowing, Lan Zhan was pulling away, letting go of the ties as though they were on fire, only succeeding in—in…

Well, Wei Ying never thought Lan Zhan would be the sort who might come on anyone’s face even accidentally, but as Wei Ying coughed and licked at the corner of his mouth, he decided he wasn’t opposed. He was pretty sure he was one bracing gust of wind away from coming himself, body wracking itself in anticipation. Aching, he sat on his haunches, staring down at Lan Zhan as he stared up at the ceiling, gasping, mouth parted. Even his cheeks were red—something Wei Ying had never in his life seen before—and he was so painfully beautiful that Wei Ying couldn’t stand it.

A handful of brutal strokes was all it took for Wei Ying to spill into his own palm. He wondered a little bit what it might feel like to come on Lan Zhan’s stomach and then mentally slapped himself for such a thought. So disrespectful. Maybe Lan Zhan wasn’t into that.

But maybe he was. What if he was?

“Wow,” he said. “Lan Zhan—”

“Don’t.” Lan Zhan scrubbed his hand over his face and pushed himself up on his elbows, squared his shoulders like he was being sent to the firing squad instead of indulging in some well-earned afterglow. “Wei Ying, I—”

“Don’t what? That was—that was good, right? I mean, you were—that was really hot, Lan Zhan.” Sure, his vocal chords might never recover, but it was worth it. “With the—” He gestured vaguely. “And the…”

“Wei Ying!” The riotous flush of his skin wasn’t dissipating and Wei Ying was charmed and concerned in equal measure. Lan Zhan wasn’t going to stroke out, was he?

Eminently pleased, but tired of cradling his own come and unwilling to move from between Lan Zhan’s legs, Wei Ying wiped his release on his stomach. Just for the time being.

Lan Zhan’s eyes narrowed to follow the motion before he lifted his gaze to Wei Ying’s face.

For no good reason, Wei Ying opened his god-damned mouth. “Maybe you’re not the only—”

His stomach clenched and he bit his tongue so hard it bled, not even a metaphor as the tang of iron filled his mouth. What was he even thinking, saying such a thing?

“Maybe I’m not the only what?” Lan Zhan asked.

But it wasn’t all that weird, was it? If he wouldn’t admit it, that would be weird. Lan Zhan already knew Wei Ying thought he was good in bed. He could tease, couldn’t he? More than that, he wanted to tease. Slapping Lan Zhan’s flank with the back of his still bound hands, he was pleased despite the fumble he was making of his words. “Maybe you’re not the only sex god in this relationship, huh?”

“Sex god?” Lan Zhan dragged himself all the way upright and offered one single, bitter laugh. “Relationship?”

Relationship? Had Wei Ying—? Fuck, he did say that, didn’t he? And of course Lan Zhan would question that. Why wouldn’t he question it? This wasn’t a relationship, just a thing they were doing because Wei Ying was too stupid to not press for more, because he didn’t know how to just have something, he had to consume all of it, take everything that he could get until it resented him for it.

He didn’t want Lan Zhan to resent him.

That, uh, was to say…

“Haha, yeah! Not like a ‘relationship’ relationship, but we’ve known each other forever and that still counts, right?” It was… incredibly difficult to get the words out and sound genuinely unconcerned, but for Lan Zhan, he tried. “That’s all I meant.”

The flush was finally receding from Lan Zhan’s face, making him look a little more like himself again. Even his hair was mostly in place, only a few strands out of step with their brethren to subtly point to the fact that Wei Ying had maybe, just a little bit, managed to debauch him.

Composed again, Lan Zhan agreed with a short nod. “Of course.”

“You don’t have to worry, Lan Zhan,” he replied, feigning indifference. “We know what we are and that’s what matters, right?”

“Wei Ying, I know.”

Wei Ying blinked in surprise at the slight vehemence in Lan Zhan’s tone, the way his shoulders curled forward slightly, but when he looked up at Wei Ying, his eyes were clear and calm, conveying a steadfastness that buoyed Wei Ying up. It felt in that moment like Wei Ying could do no wrong that Lan Zhan wouldn’t forgive and that was a sort of love Wei Ying couldn’t deny. It wasn’t the sort of love that would find them forever entwined in Lan Zhan’s stupidly comfortable bed, waking up in the morning to share breakfast and trade kisses, the pair of them spoiling the hell out of Turpentine every day, but it was a rare sort of love that Wei Ying would protect forever if he could, even from himself, even if it didn’t seem like it lately.

“Lan Zhan, you’re really great,” he said, but what he meant was so much more than that.

Lan Zhan nodded, eyes on his upturned hands. All that calm steadfastness of a moment ago dissipated into nothing when Wei Ying had only his voice to go by. “Mn.”

“I didn’t ruin your whole… thing, did I?”

“No.” He sounded so small and uncertain.

“Lan Zhan, I…” Maybe he should have let Lan Zhan keep him tied up? Was he too forward? Perhaps Lan Zhan did have some kind of vision that Wei Ying destroyed with his impatience?

“Wei Ying, you barely got your mouth on me and I came all over your face,” Lan Zhan snapped. “What does that tell you?”

“You didn’t come all over my face,” Wei Ying pointed out, holding his fingers close together. He wasn’t sure he would have minded if he did. “Just a little bit.”

“Wei Ying!”

Wei Ying scooted close, held out his hands for Lan Zhan to untie, which he did, fingers gentle against Wei Ying’s wrists, red from the pull and slide of the fabric against his skin. “You can tie me up again if you’d like.”

“Mn.”

“It was good. I won’t even misbehave next time.” Once his hands were free, Wei Ying pressed his palms against Lan Zhan’s chest, felt the still fast pulse of Lan Zhan’s heart. “I’ll let Lan er-gege have his way with me?”

Lan Zhan’s nostrils flared and he let out a harsh breath. “Be quiet.”

“Whatever he wants,” Wei Ying said as he mimed knotting one of those ties around his mouth, daring, pushing, knowing he was playing with something here he probably oughtn’t, but it was fun to pretend, fun to tease. But it wasn’t fair to Lan Zhan and maybe it was a little bit not fair to himself, to speak these things into existence. So he pulled back, patted Lan Zhan on the arm, and smiled sweetly. No hard feelings here. No strangeness. He wasn’t going to keep making it weird. “I’m going to get cleaned up. I thought I might start working on your walls if that’s okay? I’ll just grab my stuff from your car and lay down some sketches, no paint so you can sleep in here tonight.”

“That’s fine.”

As Wei Ying levered himself up from between Lan Zhan’s legs, he asked, careful, “You really don’t want to talk about…?”

“Not really,” Lan Zhan answered.

Wei Ying nodded and made his way to the shower and then down to the car.

When he came back, Lan Zhan was dressed in pajama pants and a long-sleeved t-shirt and he was working on his laptop, frowning at the screen and hardly giving Wei Ying a nod of recognition as he very conspicuously worked, so serious and somber.

Lan Zhan’s mind. It could be so mysterious. What was he hiding in there, pretending to be so busy?

Lan Zhan’s mind had to be a question for another time, since he did actually want to accomplish something and now would be the best time. He wouldn’t be able to get it up for a while anyway, so he wasn’t even entirely distracted by what he might have wanted to do to Lan Zhan.

Using a chalk line, he gridded out the length and height of the wall, lightly plucking the chalk-dusted string of the tool in accordance with his sketches, reeling it out again and again. Every so often, he sneaked a look at Lan Zhan and refused to be disappointed when Lan Zhan’s attention remained on the laptop.

By the time he was ready to call it done for the night, nearly half of the design had been transferred to the wall, and the hours seemed to have melted into nothing. His back ached and the evening was edging toward full dark, late enough that Wei Ying would have to hurry if he wanted to catch a bus back to Burial Mounds.

And Lan Zhan? Lan Zhan, when he turned around to look, was asleep against his headboard.

Lan Zhan had put his laptop aside, still open, and Wei Ying smiled fondly as he reached across Lan Zhan’s half upright form to shut the lid. His attention caught on the screen, open on a spreadsheet, and Wei Ying’s stomach twisted at seeing it, thinking immediately back to Li Wenfang’s words. He desperately tried to avoid looking at it, fearing it might be exactly what Li Wenfang had gossiped about, but when he couldn’t stop himself from glancing just once at it, he experienced a rush of relief to see it was only data related to Hanshi’s current inventory.

Nothing—nothing Wei Ying needed to worry about then. Honestly, in what world would Lan Zhan keep a sex spreadsheet?

He quietly hit save just in case, certain Lan Zhan already had, and put it to sleep properly before adjusting Lan Zhan’s pillows up a little so he wouldn’t get a crick in his neck from sleeping so awkwardly.

Retreating to the hallway, he grabbed a spare blanket from above the washing machine and returned, draping it over Lan Zhan since there was no way he’d be able to get the bedding out from beneath him anyway.

He’d discovered from their time together that Lan Zhan was a heavy sleeper once he actually went to bed, so he… he couldn’t stop himself from pressing a kiss to Lan Zhan’s forehead and then to his lips. It wouldn’t wake him up anyway. “Sleep well, Lan Zhan.”

Gathering up his materials, he set them in the corner and scribbled out a note that he placed on Lan Zhan’s bed stand, beneath his alarm so he wouldn’t miss it. He didn’t want Lan Zhan to believe he was running away; he just needed to think. Working on the wall had given him plenty of time to do so. He was making so many mistakes now, letting himself get in over his head, and he was only going to hurt Lan Zhan if he wasn’t careful.

Because Lan Zhan… Lan Zhan wouldn’t want to hurt him and he’d absolutely feel responsible for the mess Wei Ying was making of his own feelings and it was going to be impossible to break this thing off cleanly in a way that wouldn’t cause even greater harm if he wasn’t careful, if he didn’t back out of this before it went too far.

Wei Ying was the one who’d done this; he was the one who should suffer the consequences. Whatever Lan Zhan was getting out of this, it couldn’t make up for the anchor his own feelings would become.

The air was bracing as he made his way to the bus stop, clearing his head as the sound of crickets and frogs worked in tandem with the hum of the streetlight to lull him into a state of greater calm than he had any right to experience under the circumstances.

He’d give himself until he was done with the mural and the paintings, he decided, so they wouldn’t risk being soured in association. Then… then he’d end this and he’d make sure he wouldn’t leave anything broken when they left this nice little dream behind.

Before this began, he’d thought he’d have one night and he’d been given, instead, so much more than that. He couldn’t be greedy. He couldn’t demand more even though it seemed obvious to him now that Lan Zhan was willing to give it to him for reasons that Wei Ying couldn’t understand.

It was a relief to be honest, making this decision, giving himself a deadline. Until then, he’d enjoy it and he’d make sure Lan Zhan enjoyed it.

A smile settled on his mouth as this resolution filled his heart, assuaging the worst of the guilt he was feeling. He’d make this right, he would.

He promised Lan Zhan that much.

If Wei Ying were going to admit to anything, he’d have to admit that he was maybe… well.

Maybe.

Maybe he was running out of space in his studio. As he stared at the various silk panels, canvases, even a pane of glass, because why the fuck not when those could be painted on, too, and wondered where he was supposed to put his latest… thing, he was definitely realizing that, uh, maybe it was a bit much for two paintings.

Was any of it for Lan Zhan? Maybe. Did he know what this latest idea was? Not really. Just a small scrap of a thought, barely sketched out, but his wall was full, the stretch of window that belong to him was full, the floor was cluttered, and he? He was out of space. Even after pinning some of his sketches to the drape even. For something as small is this single page, he did not have room.

He didn’t know how he hadn’t realized until this moment that this was a problem or how quickly he was coming up with half-baked, half-finished ideas.

A few of them, at least, were theoretically for Lan Huan. But those were mostly blocked from view by the rest of what he was doing.

He really, really needed to get back to painting the mural. That was the problem here. All the energy that should have gone into it was being put here instead. But every time he’d tried to message Lan Zhan that he wanted to come over and work on it, he ended up distracted. Almost a whole week of distractions now while they traded blowjobs or hand jobs or just rubbed off against one another. Lan Zhan hadn’t brought out the ties again, which was sad, but he also hadn’t gotten weird as hell about the whole thing again either, so Wei Ying figured the trade-off was worth it. They didn’t have to talk about it, because there wouldn’t be anything to talk about soon enough.

Regardless, that stupid chalk grid mocked him every time he went into Lan Zhan’s bedroom.

This whole friends having sex thing was really doing wonders for a lot of things. This included: quality of sleep, quantity of sleep, inspiration, and drive. It wasn’t so good for his heart, but he was already working on extricating himself from that, so it should be fine. Might as well enjoy the boost while it lasted. Even if it was only for a little while longer.

Taking a step back now, all he could see was Lan Zhan here, but taking a step back, too, put him on a collision course with another body, startling him as he yanked his earbuds from his ears and accidentally pulled the cord from his phone as well. Spinning, he nearly tripped, except that a quick, gentle hand caught hold of him.

“Lan Zhan!” he breathed, voice loud as he yanked his earbuds out of his ear. “When did you get here?”

“A few minutes ago,” Lan Zhan admitted. “I called for you, but you didn’t hear me. You don’t normally…” He gestured at his ear.

Yeah, he was maybe listening to a playlist he’d poached from Lan Zhan’s phone. He was that sort of embarrassing.

Ah. Well, at least this wasn’t one of Wei Ying’s more unseemly moments, he supposed, but it would maybe have been nice to have some warning so he could hide the worst of what was here.

He might as well have a naked sculpture of Lan Zhan right in the middle of the room; it would have exposed Wei Ying’s vulnerabilities just as thoroughly. “Aha, I didn’t know you were coming.”

“I was in the area and thought I’d stop by.”

“Lan Zhan, if we keep seeing one another like this, you’re going to get bored of me.”

“No.” Flat. Brooking no arguments. He gestured toward the haphazard sprawl of mayhem around them. “What’s all this?”

Wei Ying had to give it to him: if he was at all disturbed by this accidental freaky shrine to him, he didn’t let on. Maybe Wei Ying would get lucky and Lan Zhan would be as oblivious to this as he was to the mural.

God, at least Wei Ying hadn’t gone fully around the bend and started doodling Lan Zhan’s face all over everything. He’d just, you know, have to read between the lines. Not like he went to school to learn the critical art of analyzing bullshit or anything, nope.

Fuck. How many strokes of a brush will it take for Lan Zhan to finally realize how incredibly fucking stupid Wei Ying was?

Lan Zhan’s gaze skated over the works arrayed around the room and settled finally on Wei Ying. He carefully swept up and hid a few of the guqin sketches behind another canvas before waving Lan Zhan in. Those, he wanted to keep in reserve. “Might as well tell me what you think. And don’t just say it’s good or whatever. I know you’re giving me free rein, but at least tell me if what I’m trying to accomplish sucks.”

“It doesn’t,” Lan Zhan said, but he took enough of Wei Ying’s meaning to approach one of the nearly silk panels he’d stretched and stapled to a wood frame himself. It was a smaller scale version of what should have been on Lan Zhan’s walls by now, possibly the more boring of the wide array of options, but he liked the idea of balance it evoked, a touch of Lan Zhan’s inner sanctum brought out to the rest of his home. “The composition is good.”

Wei Ying rolled his eyes.

“It’s not great,” Lan Zhan added, words laden with meaning. He sketched his hand over an area of white space. “This isn’t as balanced as it could be.” He pointed to another spot. “You’re too focused on the crane. The crane is only one part of it. Your brushwork is rushed elsewhere, especially among the trees, but meticulous there, and not in a way that feels deliberate, which could be interesting if it was purposefully done, but because of what I’ve already said, it feels like laziness. Your use of color, however, is excellent, as always. I think it will look beautiful.”

Wei Ying whipped a pen from his pocket and jotted down Lan Zhan’s notes on his palm. “The great Hanguang-jun is merciless in his analyses.” Though his words may have sounded hurt, he couldn’t hide the smile that formed anyway. “This humble one is grateful.”

This time, it was Lan Zhan who rolled his eyes, so subtly that he could try to play it off if he wanted to. “I am unexpectedly free the rest of today,” he said instead of doing what Wei Ying knew in his heart he wanted to do, which was castigate Wei Ying for his use of that overwrought, if beloved, nickname. “You sent me a message asking to come over this afternoon?”

Yeah, before you were ‘unexpectedly free.’

“I did do that…” He bit his lip. He’d expected Lan Zhan wasn’t going to be home when he went. Apparently the world was out to screw him again today. Or, well, Lan Zhan anyway. “I don’t want to disturb you.”

“You will not.”

Ugh, even these few words were capable of making Wei Ying feel giddy on the inside. This was not high school. He had no reason to feel so emotional over an admission that he wouldn’t be a disruption. Even in his own experience, he wasn’t like this back in school. It was like it was all only catching up to him now and it threatened to stagger him.

Lan Zhan wasn’t going to make it easy for him and he didn’t even know it. Still, he’d made a promise. He could indulge a little bit until then.

Except he couldn’t even think of an outrageous, flirtatious response to give to Lan Zhan. He just wanted to say yes and then assure Lan Zhan that he never wanted to leave again. There could be no indulgence when he felt so fucking earnest about it all.

“I’m free,” he settled on. If he couldn’t be outrageous and he couldn’t be cool, he could be honest. “Let me get some stuff together and then we can go. Might as well get some work done, right?”

A troubled glance crossed Lan Zhan’s features, stopping Wei Ying in his tracks. He asked, self-conscious, “What?” Had he misunderstood or…?

“Have you rested at all?” Lan Zhan asked. “My brother told me he asked you if you’d be willing to complete some more work for Hanshi.” He briefly looked around the room, conveying his meaning without any words at all. To someone who didn’t realize, they would think that Wei Ying had gone around the bend a time or two, burning every candle in the fucking room on both ends. Not that there were candles here, hell no, that was just asking for trouble. Just. Metaphorical candles. Yeah.

All of this though was to his enjoyment, though. It didn’t feel like work at all.

Chewing his lip, he tried to see it from Lan Zhan’s perspective. This all… did seem excessive. Even if none of it was him tormenting himself for Hanshi. And though he couldn’t say what he did with Lan Zhan was restful, he was taking way, way more breaks than usual because of him. Still, he put down the handful of supplies he’d gathered up and opened his palms. There was no rush. Sometimes he forgot about that fact.

If he gave mental space to the idea that the longer Lan Zhan dragged this out, the more time Wei Ying had with him, he didn’t acknowledge it.

“Lan Zhan, I’ve barely started painting your walls. At some point, I’m going to have to do the job you paid me for.”

Wei Ying knew for a fact that Lan Zhan had training in rhetoric and yet did he use any of that skill to formulate a cogent, sexy, verbal argument? No, he just stared Wei Ying into submission.

“Okay, you win,” Wei Ying said. “I’m free and my attention is entirely yours except for what I give to Turpentine instead. Deal?”

The tips of Lan Zhan’s ears turned a little pink and he nodded in apparent satisfaction, which was great for him since he got to win the argument. All Wei Ying got out of it was another guilty chance to hang out with Lan Zhan. Maybe, he was beginning to think, this was all a very bad idea.

Lan Zhan let Wei Ying into his apartment and though Wei Ying knew it wasn’t really any different from any of the other times he’d been let in, it felt that way. A sense of trepidation worked its way through Wei Ying, trepidation that turned to possibility then turned to mischief because that energy needed to go into something before he did something tragic. “Lan Zhan,” he said, spinning around and stopping Lan Zhan from stepping into the condo. In fact, he stretched his arms to catch each side of the doorway and leaned forward, almost into Lan Zhan’s chest, like it was his own apartment and not Lan Zhan’s. “Lan Zhan, will you let me draw you this time?”

“What?”

“Let me draw you. I promise it won’t be work.” He didn’t truly believe Lan Zhan would be swayed and he was prepared to let Lan Zhan inside, except that Lan Zhan sighed, not even an aggrieved sigh, just a normal one, and nodded. “I won’t even—wait. That was a nod?”

Lan Zhan nodded again and then took hold of Wei Ying’s wrist, dislodging his hand from the door frame and gently pushing him inside.

“You’ll really let me draw you?” He slapped lightly at Lan Zhan’s chest. “Fuck and when you didn’t even let me bring my good supplies? Lan Zhan, you’re such a jerk. You do this on purpose. My one chance to draw you with your permission and I’ll be stuck with a ratty sheet of printer paper and a ballpoint pen or something.”

Lan Zhan’s brow climbed his forehead. “I didn’t realize you’d need anything else,” he said, challenging. “I always thought you could work miracles with anything presented to you.”

“If I have to,” Wei Ying agreed, definitely aggrieved, trailing behind Lan Zhan as he first checked on Turpentine and then worked his way back to his bedroom. “But Lan Zhan, you deserve to be rendered in VantaBlack or—or at least liquid gold ink, not a stupid ballpoint pen like I doodled with in primary school.”

“Please don’t try to get a hold of VantaBlack.” He then crouched by his bed and pulled open one of the drawers.

“Yeah, I know. How would I even use it anyway? That shit’s vile. But you’re being obtuse on purpose.”

Lan Zhan peered up at him and then placed a beautifully bound book onto his bed, followed by a pretty black lacquered box with a subtle, swirling pattern painted on it. “Am I?”

Wei Ying narrowed his eyes. “What is this?”

“It’s not a ballpoint pen,” Lan Zhan offered, pushing himself elegantly to his feet, “nor printer paper.” He walked over and handed the book to Wei Ying. It was clearly a precious object, one of a kind, created by an expert. Though it seemed to be quite old, the pages, thick and soft, a little toothy when Wei Ying brushed his thumb over one corner, it was only showing its age a little in the yellowing along the edges.

There wasn’t anything on any of the pages, but he had a horrifying suspicion anyway.

“Lan Zhan.”

Lan Zhan swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing obviously. He refused to look at Wei Ying.

“Lan Zhan, tell me. Who did this belong to?” As soon as he asked, he knew the answer for sure and suddenly it didn’t feel quite like a victory to know he’d finally won Lan Zhan over to his side. With this book in his hand, it felt too serious, would mean too much. Wei Ying couldn’t do it.

“She would have wanted you to—”

It was only his last shred of rational thought that kept him from flinging the book from his hands. Instead, he closed it with shaking fingers, his touch delicate as he pushed it back into Lan Zhan’s hands. “I can’t. Not if it’s hers.”

Lan Zhan refused to take it and instead dropped the box on top of it. The weight wasn’t much in and of itself, but it was more than Wei Ying could bear regardless. When he lifted it to inspect the bottom, he saw Lan Zhan’s mother’s name painted on the bottom in a child’s best effort at calligraphy. His throat, parched, could not swallow around the lump in his throat. “Lan Zhan, be reasonable.”

“It’s reasonable that a book be used,” Lan Zhan said. There would be no arguing with him on this point now. If Wei Ying didn’t know for a certainty that he was the one who’d walked himself in this, he would have thought Lan Zhan had planned it, was making some kind of declaration. But there was no way he could have known Wei Ying would ask and certainly not at a time like this, when Wei Ying wasn’t prepared already. So he just… decided this. On the spot. Like it was easy for him. Lan Zhan didn’t make snap decisions.

He would regret it. Of course he would. How could he not one day regret it? “Not by me,” Wei Ying said, hoping to be the smarter person here since Lan Zhan refused.

A flicker of something crossed Lan Zhan’s face too quickly to name. “Who else?”

“I don’t know!” And wow did Wei Ying not intend for his voice to crack like that or for it to be so loud when it happened. He didn’t mean for any of this to happen and now he was stuck with—with Lan Zhan trying to give him this gift that Wei Ying could never hope to properly reciprocate. “These belong to your mother. It shouldn’t be me. I’m not—”

Lan Zhan took Wei Ying’s face into his hands and for the first time, Wei Ying wondered if this could be considered cruelty. How could Lan Zhan look at him like this, hand him his own mother’s sketchbook, a priceless possibility that Wei Ying could never live up to, when what they shared now couldn’t go anywhere?

There was no way Lan Zhan could know what this would mean to Wei Ying if he took it. It was a joke. This whole thing from start to finish was a joke. He wanted to go back to when he could pretend he just wanted to fuck Lan Zhan, that everything Wei Ying loved about him wouldn’t be able to hurt him because it was an impossibility anyway. Lan Zhan offering him something so precious wrapped up in such an otherwise innocent package…

He couldn’t. He couldn’t do that to himself or to Lan Zhan. There was nothing worthy in this and Lan Zhan didn’t even seem to realize it.

But Lan Zhan kissed him then so fervently that Wei Ying was unable to tear himself away and only succeeded in hanging onto the sketchbook and box at all because he gripped them so tightly to his chest. He tore himself away reluctantly, only succeeding at placing those precious objects on Lan Zhan’s bedside table before succumbing again to impulses that felt too big for him, confined only by the thin membrane of his skin, pressing uncomfortably against him until he felt certain he would break apart.

His hands, shaking, pulled at Lan Zhan’s clothes, helped along by Lan Zhan’s equally unsteady touch. Somehow they didn’t hinder one another.

This was better. This was something he could navigate.

“Will you fuck me?” Wei Ying asked and as soon as the words were out, he realized they were doing this all wrong. He didn’t even think to bring a condom, but—but Lan Zhan had already sucked him off a lot and Wei Ying—? It was irresponsible from Lan Zhan’s perspective because what did he know about Wei Ying’s history or lack thereof? And Wei Ying had kind of done the same. And why was Wei Ying only now thinking of it? Wei Ying didn’t have to worry; he was certain Lan Zhan kept himself safe and protected, but why did Lan Zhan go along with it? “I don’t have—”

A condom? Up-to-date test results? Common fucking sense? Any of the things that Lan Zhan should probably care more about?

“I trust you,” Lan Zhan said. “I do have condoms if—”

God. They really were going to have this conversation, weren’t they? Why couldn’t Wei Ying have kept his mouth shut? Or, you know, opened it sooner when it actually mattered? “I haven’t been sexually active,” Wei Ying said, despairing for himself as he cut Lan Zhan off so as not to prolong the indignity of admitting how entirely focused on Lan Zhan he was, “except with you. Obviously, we’re sexually active.” He didn’t even have a preference. Condom. No condom. What the fuck did he care as long as Lan Zhan was able to drive every thought out of his mind so Wei Ying could maybe for five minutes not be sick to death of his own bullshit? “I think I might have some results from that health initiative thing Wen-jie made me participate in a few months back…” He fumbled for his phone until Lan Zhan grabbed his wrist, stopping him, cursing himself for blaming her when he really just wanted to encourage the people around him to take better care of themselves even if he himself sucked at it and that had seemed like an easy enough idea to indulge at the time when she’d told him about it. This whole… thought process was just self-sabotage. He was self-sabotaging. If either of them had any concerns, they would have come up already.

“Wei Ying. I know.”

“What?”

“I know you haven’t,” Lan Zhan said, “or I guessed it.”

Wei Ying laughed hollowly. “That bad, huh?”

Lan Zhan exhaled impatiently. “No.” Then, “You’ve never mentioned anyone else.”

And fuck there was a whole world of questions in Lan Zhan’s tone that Wei Ying didn’t want to answer now. Anything he might have asked would be too close to the truth.

“Can I use your bathroom?”

Though Lan Zhan looked as though he intended to argue, his gaze softened and he nodded, allowing Wei Ying the chance to retreat. As Wei Ying closed the door, his phone beeped with notification of an attachment: a screencap of Lan Zhan’s own recent results, perfectly clean, conducted a month ago, as comprehensive as could be. He nearly threw his phone and did actually slam his fist against the sink, feeling every brand of stupid out there, and not even because of this, not really, just this whole thing in its entirety.

This wasn’t sexy in the slightest and Lan Zhan’s perplexity was probably a given and as soon as he stepped back out there he was going to have to explain himself or, or—

He splashed water across his face and told himself they’d do this and Wei Ying would be as good for Lan Zhan as he knew how to be and it would make up for the sheer magnitude of his current awkwardness. He grabbed one of Lan Zhan’s robes from the little cube it was folded into and yanked a towel down from another and scrubbed himself down in the shower until he’d washed the worst of his embarrassment away and thought, maybe optimistically, he could turn this back around.

When he stepped back out into the hallway, he shivered at the cool touch of air against his overheated skin and then he shivered again when he found Lan Zhan in the bedroom. An expression of surprise crossed Lan Zhan’s face as he looked up at Wei Ying, gaze skimming from bare feet to bare leg, up the thin, soft fabric of the robe, to finally settle on Wei Ying’s face.

Nervousness crept up Wei Ying’s spine, its tendrils locking around every inch of him that it could reach. He brushed his damp bangs back as he waited for Lan Zhan to say something or do anything instead of leaving Wei Ying stranded here in the middle of the floor because he couldn’t—he’d come as far as he was able to and needed help to get the rest of the way. His skin pimpled with cold and he chose to blame it on the way he shivered.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan said again, climbing to his feet. His shirt, half opened from Wei Ying’s earlier actions, remained so now—at least until he pulled it the rest of the way free and tossed it aside, approaching Wei Ying with such fervor that he almost stepped back in response. When he was close enough, he reached for the collar of the robes, hands settling just over the top to skim across his neck. He didn’t, thankfully, ask Wei Ying if he was sure and instead brought their mouths together again with a gentle touch to Wei Ying’s chin, almost more than he could bear. Lan Zhan guided Wei Ying forward by walking himself backward.

By the time they reached the bed about three hundred lifetimes later, Wei Ying was hard, cock brushing the inside of the robe. The jut of it was obvious and a little licentious and Lan Zhan’s gaze darkened as he looked down.

“Let me know if you don’t like it,” Lan Zhan said, waiting for Wei Ying to nod before he carefully turned them so that the back of Wei Ying’s calves now brushed the edge of the bed. His hand slipped beneath the robe and already Wei Ying didn’t like it. Rather, he didn’t like that he was the only one already almost naked.

“I want to see you, too, Lan Zhan,” he said before the robe could fall more than a little over one shoulder. He hiked it back up with one hand as the other reached for Lan Zhan’s trousers.

Lan Zhan quickly began divesting himself of the rest of his garments, each tossed onto the pile already forming, an eloquent display of impatience, until all that was left was the tight-fitting fabric of his boxers and the outline of his erection as it strained against the fabric. Lan Zhan showed none of the sudden shyness Wei Ying felt, not even at exposing himself so openly to Wei Ying, a little different from their other times together. It was still the middle of the day and though nobody could see in through the windows, they showed so much in the gleaming, bright sunlight, almost hyperreal to Wei Ying’s eyes. Lan Zhan was different in this light, more settled, more assured maybe?

His thumbs hooked brazenly in the waistband of his underwear and then that, too, was gone and Wei Ying had no further recourse.

Lan Zhan was gorgeous, a perfect specimen of quiet masculinity, and this was how Wei Ying wanted to draw him, but he’d fucked that up already and now he needed something else instead and—

“Wei Ying, is this all right?”

How did people like Li Wenfang not just perish on sight? Did they just not appreciate Lan Zhan enough or something? How was he supposed to do this when Lan Zhan looked like that and Wei Ying was just a complete mess? “It’s fine, Lan Zhan. Please. Just. I wouldn’t have asked if it wasn’t.”

“We can do something else if you’d rather.”

Wei Ying knew Lan Zhan was only concerned and wasn’t trying to be purposefully patronizing, but it was so patronizing that Wei Ying’s face flushed in embarrassment. “I want it.” Don’t make me beg.

Lan Zhan, blessedly, stepped closer and nodded, fingers skimming over the robe again, this time pushing it off both Wei Ying’s shoulders at once. He could smell the heat coming off of Lan Zhan’s body mingling with the scent of his cologne and it was so much that Wei Ying almost swooned at the pulse of arousal that burned through him.

Wei Ying surged upward, robe falling away, and pulled Lan Zhan into a kiss and then dragged him down onto the bed, their bodies sliding together with nothing at all between them. The dry friction sent scattering sparks of pleasure through him and he couldn’t help gasping into Lan Zhan’s mouth as he hardened further, bucking him as his cock rubbed against Lan Zhan’s hip. “Lan Zhan, please.”

Lan Zhan grappled inelegantly for the bedside table. “You’ll need to turn over.”

“Hngh, okay,” he said, though the effort was gargantuan. His whole body felt enervated, too much and not enough all at once, and pushing himself up was enough to arouse him further before he flopped over onto his stomach, which did nothing to help him, not at all, because it was so very easy to grind down against the bed, rub himself off against it as he imagined Lan Zhan inside of him, taking him apart and putting him back together again like—

Like Lan Zhan did with everyone else he’d slept with. Was this what they meant? Maybe this and the way Lan Zhan had tried to lavish so much attention on him? He couldn’t figure it out because everything Lan Zhan gave him was extraordinary and every asshole who hadn’t fought for him right out of the gate was an absolute moron. Even Wei Ying, who was a moron and, worse, a coward.

Someone should fight for Lan Zhan. Someone besides Li Wenfang.

Lan Zhan returned, hand splaying across his shoulder, warm and soft, and, leaning close, he pressed a kiss to the back of Wei Ying’s neck, then his shoulder. His hand drifted down Wei Ying’s side and curved over the swell of Wei Ying’s buttock, trailing heat and desire behind him. Wei Ying wanted this, but he didn’t—

“Lan Zhan, you want this, too, right?” He buried his face in the pillow that smelled like Lan Zhan’s shampoo, that stupid sandalwood scent that clung to everything and now would only be connected in Wei Ying’s mind with this. He wasn’t sure how his skin didn’t blister from how hot and flushed he felt, both with arousal and discomposure. “You’re not just doing this for me?”

Lan Zhan’s slow ministrations came to a halt. His hand remained a heavy weight against the base of his spine, unmoving. “I would happily do whatever you asked only because you wanted it,” Lan Zhan said. When Wei Ying made a sound of disgruntlement, he added, more forcefully, “But I am not doing this only for you. I would like to have this with you.”

Wei Ying let out a shuddering breath. Okay, okay. He could. That was. This was okay. If Lan Zhan wanted it, too, then it was good.

“Wei Ying?”

“Okay. Yes. Please.” Anything, anything. Lan Zhan just had to move already. Wei Ying was as ready as he was going to get. If Lan Zhan didn’t do something, he was going to scream or worse: cry.

Lan Zhan shifted until he was seated right next to Wei Ying, hip to hip, his legs still hanging off the edge of the bed, upper body turned. Wei Ying tried to look back at him, but he feared what Lan Zhan might see, so he went back to hiding his face.

Lan Zhan’s thumb brushed at Wei Ying’s coccyx, rubbing and pressing lightly, forcing Wei Ying’s body further into the bed.

Even this was almost too much for Wei Ying and he had to snake his hand between his face and the pillow to firmly press his palm over his mouth to smother the worst of the sounds he was threatening to make. How could anyone do this and not fall entirely apart? Or was Wei Ying the only one who was going to be like this about it?

Lan Zhan’s elegant, slim, long, really fucking long, finger slid between the cleft of his buttocks, his thumbs spreading each cheek slightly. Wei Ying dragged in a deep, sharp breath through his nose, difficult with his face buried in the pillow, but better than giving himself away. He tensed up to keep from shaking, but that made Lan Zhan retreat and say his name, questioning, and that was just fucking frustrating, wasn’t it? He was already messing this up.

He lifted his head—a monumental effort and twisted around to look at Lan Zhan—and said, a little crazed, on edge, un-fucking-hinged, “Lan Zhan, don’t you dare stop, do you hear me?”

“It will be easier if you relax,” Lan Zhan said, sympathetic, kind, patient despite the very real evidence of his arousal that Wei Ying could definitely see if he craned his neck, which he did. God damn. Of course he did. He didn’t know what was different today, how Lan Zhan could be so calm when every other time they were together it was more… active, not at all drawn out anyway.

“It’s not because you’re… it’s not like that. I’m cool with… this.” But if Lan Zhan truly believed him, then he’d no doubt wonder why Wei Ying was tensing up instead and that was a conversation Wei Ying didn’t want to have.

“Even so,” Lan Zhan replied.

It didn’t seem possible at the moment, but Wei Ying nodded, huffing, and returned to the position he’d started this in, forcing each muscle to relax the way he sometimes instructed the others at Burial Mounds to do when they were too keyed up about something they were working on and risked giving themselves a strain or something. After an entire glacial age passed, Wei Ying was as relaxed as he was going to get and Lan Zhan touched him again, just the way he’d been doing before, and Wei Ying promised he wouldn’t lock up again, but now that he wasn’t, he couldn’t control the minute trembles his body made instead.

The sound of a bottle cap popping open had Wei Ying stifling a moan even though nothing happened for a long time, long enough that Wei Ying sneaked a look and found that Lan Zhan was very possibly waiting for it to warm in his hands. That was—heavens, so stupid, but Wei Ying choked up on the thoughtfulness of the gesture anyway. “Lan Zhan,” he whined, wriggling slightly in the hopes of getting Lan Zhan to get a move on it.

“Wei Ying,” he said, admonishingly low, intimate. His voice was a little shaky, too.

The bed creaked slightly when Lan Zhan finally bent forward to press one finger against his entrance. The digit, entirely coated in lubricant, swirled a few times, dipping in only lightly, almost playful except for how Wei Ying knew in his heart that this was how Lan Zhan wanted to show his care. Though it was a strange sensation, he definitely couldn’t say it felt bad either. He’d always been a little curious, just too damned lazy to do it to himself whenever the whim took him on his own time. Combined with the press of his cock against the bed, it was pretty great, especially when another finger joined the first. Neither of them truly entered him, but each time they moved, Wei Ying felt a little looser.

It mesmerized him, the rhythmic feel of Lan Zhan’s hands on him, and he had to remind himself to take a breath when his lungs burned, every ounce of his attention on Lan Zhan’s touch.

By the time Lan Zhan saw fit to push one digit further in, Wei Ying was sweating, shaking, grinding against the bed, and his success at muffling the noises he was making was beginning to fail. Though he was thinking it should have felt like an intrusion, all he could think about was how it was Lan Zhan touching him this way, in a way nobody else had touched him. Maybe it wasn’t special to Lan Zhan. Maybe he did this with everyone he slept with. But—but it was unique anyway because it was them.

“Lan Zhan, please,” Wei Ying said, finally unable to stop himself because Lan Zhan was persistent, pushing deep and deeper, stroking Wei Ying until he was feeling it in places he didn’t even know existed. Pleasure built in him the way water slipped through the weakest points of things, only flooding its surroundings after days, months, years, eons.

Sweat prickled in his hair, body swamped with heat, and he was so hard he thought for sure he would die here. He pushed himself back onto Lan Zhan’s hand, hoisting himself upright on his elbows. The fingers Lan Zhan was opening him with were suddenly knuckle deep, all of them, and the burst of pain dragged the air from his lungs. Points of starlight burst behind his eyes and all that sudden slicing pain transmuted as though by magic into pleasure, too much of it and not enough and he needed Lan Zhan inside of him, with him, so he wasn’t alone.

He turned before Lan Zhan could stop him, barely gave Lan Zhan time to free his fingers before he pulled himself into Lan Zhan’s lap, arms wrapped around his neck, face buried against his throat. “I need you.” He couldn’t say it to Lan Zhan’s face, but he could say it.

He inhaled deeply and just as he thought perhaps Lan Zhan hadn’t heard him, or didn’t believe him, or just plain wasn’t going to do it, Lan Zhan’s breath hitched and he shifted and after a moment’s fumbling as he did whatever it was he was doing, Wei Ying felt Lan Zhan’s erection slide, hot and slick, over his entrance. Lan Zhan’s hands gripped him tight by the waist to steady him. It was slow, impossible torture as Lan Zhan worked himself inside and Wei Ying’s muscles trembled in protest, each millimeter a pain-pleasure-shock of intrusion, but because it was Lan Zhan, he wasn’t afraid, couldn’t have been afraid even if he was worried that he couldn’t—that this wasn’t…

When he was fully seated on Lan Zhan, he gasped, the both of them completely still, Wei Ying because he couldn’t believe it and Lan Zhan because… Wei Ying didn’t know why Lan Zhan didn’t move, though his chest rose and fell against Wei Ying’s in ragged, quick succession. When Wei Ying shifted slightly, he finally gasped, harsh and choked, and it was like Lan Zhan’s voice was wired directly to Wei Ying’s pleasure centers because any discomfort he felt, any pain, was immediately twisted into arousal.

Though his body didn’t feel like his own, didn’t particularly want to obey Wei Ying, Wei Ying was able to convince himself to squeeze around Lan Zhan and nearly bit his own tongue. His erection, which had flagged a little, twitched and bumped against his abdomen, smearing cool liquid against his stomach. When Lan Zhan ground out a groan at Wei Ying’s action, Wei Ying had to muffle his own whimpers with Lan Zhan’s skin.

Fuck, fuck. If only he could hear Lan Zhan sound this way always. It was indecent. It was beautiful. Wei Ying felt powerful for having done it and he wanted to keep doing it until Lan Zhan decided he wasn’t worth it any longer.

Wei Ying was not going to think about that right now. Instead, he hiked himself up on his knees, shivering at the drag of Lan Zhan’s cock in him and then pushed himself back down as Lan Zhan’s hands tightened even more, trembling as his thumbs dug into Wei Ying’s muscles, his bones, as though if he pressed hard enough he could leave behind his fingerprints on Wei Ying’s body.

Wei Ying wished he could, wished he would try, wished he could tattoo into his skin each whorl that marked Lan Zhan as Lan Zhan and marked Wei Ying as Lan Zhan’s, too, because Wei Ying wouldn’t be who he was without him. He wouldn’t be the artist he was or the person. In truth, he wasn’t sure he’d be anyone without Lan Zhan, who always challenged him, who made him want to be better even if sometimes the expression of it didn’t meet Lan Zhan’s standards or beliefs in him.

How could he go back to what they were before now that he was here, so firmly tangled up in Lan Zhan that he couldn’t quite tell anymore where he ended and Lan Zhan began?

Lan Zhan was his best friend, the person he was closest to in all the world now that he and his family were scattered to the wind, seeing one another at holidays or on the few weekends they could eke out with one another. Wei Ying could go to them if he needed to, could text Jiang Cheng right now and be at his house in half an hour and find his problems yelled into submission for him, could call jiejie and book a train ticket and have her there to pick him up when he got there, even if Jin Ling was sitting in the backseat of her SUV sulking about having his day interrupted. If he had to, he could even beseech a day or two back with Uncle Jiang and Madam Yu, enduring unearned warmth from the former and awkward freezes from the latter.

But they weren’t there for him on a daily basis. They weren’t the first person he thought of when he came across anything that he wanted to share. It wasn’t Jiang Cheng’s keys that mingled with Wei Ying’s own on his key chain. It wasn’t for jiejie that he painted.

When Lan Zhan rolled his hips upward, jerky and uncoordinated, rocking Wei Ying into his chest, dislodging Wei Ying’s lips from where they were latched to Lan Zhan’s shoulder, bitten and sucked red in the shape of Wei Ying’s mouth, slick with his saliva, a mark that would eventually fade. When Lan Zhan did it again, Wei Ying gasped, crying out, and he knew, knew that he couldn’t—

He couldn’t do this.

Scrabbling backward, he wrenched himself free of Lan Zhan’s touch with a squelching, obscene sound. Lubricant dripped down his thigh and he was so bewildered by the sudden change that he didn’t move again for a moment. Adrenaline coursed uselessly through him and Lan Zhan stretched toward him, eyes wide and equally bewildered, his mouth shaping around Wei Ying’s name.

Wei Ying flinched so viciously that Lan Zhan pulled back as though burned and Wei Ying hated himself for causing the hurt confusion that gave that beautiful face of Lan Zhan’s such an ugly, pained cast.

Wei Ying’s eyes caught on Lan Zhan’s lower body. His erection was entirely wilted and his skin was flushed a shade of pink Wei Ying had never seen before.

“Wei Ying?”

“Sorry, I—I can’t do this anymore.” He stumbled toward the robe and scooped it up, shrugging into it and clutching it tightly closed as he rushed into the bathroom and changed back into his clothes.

Lan Zhan didn’t follow him, not as he opened the bathroom door again, not as he caught Lan Zhan’s eye from across the hall, door to the bedroom wide open, not as he all but sprinted to the door and shoved his feet into his shoes, and not as he opened and then slammed the door shut behind him, cursing under his breath because he didn’t mean to do that.

He didn’t mean to run.

He didn’t mean to trick Lan Zhan into more than he rightly deserved.

He didn’t mean for any of this to happen.

He didn’t mean any of it except for how he meant all of it, too much of it to bear on these shoulders of his any longer. He meant to run. He had meant to trick. And on some level, he always knew this would happen.

“Hey! Hey!” Mo Xuanyu ran up to Wei Ying out behind Burial Mounds, eyes wide with concern as he took in Wei Ying’s appearance, which was no doubt kind of, um, haphazard. Maybe Wei Ying hadn’t, you know, thought much about making sure he didn’t look like a lunatic when he got back, marched up the stairs to the studio spaces, took one look at every bit of bullshit he’d committed to canvas since Lan Zhan commissioned him, and marched them outside in several batches, but that wasn’t Mo Xuanyu’s business, nor was it his business if Wei Ying was busy lobbing said canvases into the in-ground fire pit he’d helped dig a few years back because what was the point of having an ugly ass patch of empty ground behind the building if they didn’t use it? Someone tried throwing down seed once; it didn’t take, though no one was quite sure what kind of seed it was to begin with. But they used the fire pit quite frequently and sometimes the battered old grill got dragged out for lamb skewers or something. Normally it wasn’t used for this though. “What the fuck?”

“What the fuck what, Mo Xuanyu?” Wei Ying said, not really hearing him, not really interested in hearing him, not really interested in talking either. When he tried to fling another canvas in, Mo Xuanyu wrenched it from his grip and looked at it, a stern expression on his face.

“What the fuck this,” he answered, turning the canvas and waving it in Wei Ying’s face, getting in the way. Whatever he wanted Wei Ying to see was lost in the motion. “What are you doing throwing this stuff out? Why are you throwing any of these out?”

“They’re no good.” He managed to wing one around Mo Xuanyu despite the way he was blocking Wei Ying. It landed with a satisfying thunk on the pile.

Mo Xuanyu scoffed. “Even if that was true,” he said, dubious, “what the fuck? Since when do canvases grow on trees? You’re just going to burn them? What if someone calls in a disturbance or something? Some of this shit is toxic.”

That—actually wasn’t a terrible point maybe. Well, he could just as easily drown them in buckets of water instead. Not quite as satisfying, but it was the thought that counted.

“You want them?” Wei Ying asked. It didn’t really matter what happened to the canvases as long as Wei Ying didn’t have to look at them anymore. They were all wrong. Awful. Wei Ying was stupid to ever think they were good enough for Lan Zhan. “Fine.”

“No, I—” He ran his hand through his hair and muttered under his breath. “Do I have to find Wen Qing? What’s the matter with you? You’re scaring the children.”

Wei Ying rolled his eyes. Mo Xuanyu had a lot of room to talk about children. He was one of the youngest here, only a couple of years out of university. What did he know about adulthood? “Nothing is the matter with me,” Wei Ying said, reasonable, so reasonable as to be actually physically uncomfortable. “These just—need to go. Sometimes things need to go.”

Mo Xuanyu glanced down at the canvas still in his hand. “These were what you were working on for Lan Zhan.”

Hearing his name spoken out loud, even though it’d been two hours tops since he’d said Lan Zhan’s name aloud himself, still struck him like a bolt of lightning from heaven, damning and all-consuming. Pain flared in his chest and spread like the limbs of trees throughout his body.

“Why do they have to go?” Mo Xuanyu asked, pressing. When he lifted his eyes to look at Wei Ying again, there was a flare of anger there that Wei Ying hadn’t seen in such a long time that he didn’t realize Mo Xuanyu was still capable of it. Of everyone here, he was the one who might best understand the sort of destructiveness Wei Ying was feeling.

Wei Ying supposed that made him both the best and worst person to have found him this way.

Too bad he wasn’t looking for any sort of resolution or help; all he wanted was a clean slate.

“Wei Ying, what happened?” That anger dissipated as quickly as it came and now there was, instead, a plaintive note in his voice that was rarely present when he spoke. He’d stopped, somewhere along the way, being the sort of person who was plaintive, too. Having spent so much of his life trying to get somewhere with his family and getting nowhere, he just got annoyed instead, not angry, not plaintive.

“Nothing I didn’t do to myself,” Wei Ying answered, fierce, piercing himself with the words as much as trying to get Mo Xuanyu to go away and stop asking inconvenient questions. “These are shit. I can do better. Let me get rid of them.”

Mo Xuanyu sighed. “Why don’t you let me hang onto them? If you don’t want to see them, fine, but—”

“You can have the canvases or I can get rid of them, but I don’t want you to save them from me.”

“What if you change your mind?”

“I won’t.” He thought about the notes Lan Zhan had offered him, how kind they were, how painful the underlying truth of those words was.

“Would Lan Zhan want you to do this? Why don’t I—I’ll call him, okay? Whatever happened, it can be fixed.” He bit his lip and closed his eyes briefly, as though fearing reprisal. “He wouldn’t be happy about how you’re feeling.”

“How would you know?” There was still a small pile of canvases and scrolled up scraps of paper of varying sizes at his feet and these he kicked and then he wrenched the canvas from Mo Xuanyu’s hands and launched it, overshooting the fire pit by a not insignificant amount. It landed on one end and the thin wooden frame splintered. He shoved at Mo Xuanyu’s shoulder, pushing him backward, and shouted at him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he was being unreasonable, but he couldn’t stop himself, not when Lan Zhan’s name still rang through his head like a red flag waved before a bull. “How would you know how he feels about anything? What makes you special enough to know? Shouldn’t I know if he’s happy or sad or… or, I don’t know, fucking other guys? And how the fuck do you know how I’m feeling? What could you possibly know about it?”

Mo Xuanyu’s lips thinned and his face went pale, but that just set his resolve; he did not back down. “I know it’s not the paintings you’re hating right now.”

“I—you!” Wei Ying turned away and crossed his arms. “Fuck off. What business is it of yours?”

“It’s not,” Mo Xuanyu said, appeasing, the way store clerks at the end of their ropes appeased, and that only pissed Wei Ying off more. He didn’t want to be appeased. He didn’t want Mo Xuanyu’s sympathy. He didn’t want these paintings rescued. “But… I’m here if you need me, okay? Don’t do anything you’ll regret, yeah? You’ll never get these back if you destroy them now.”

Wei Ying choked on a bitter laugh. Don’t do anything he regretted? Wasn’t it already too late for that? Where was Mo Xuanyu with this excellent advice over a week ago when Wei Ying made himself into the biggest idiot on the planet to begin with? Why didn’t he stop Wei Ying then?

“Look,” Mo Xuanyu said, trying again because apparently Wei Ying was coming across as just that pathetic. “I know I’m not always the best listener and my advice is often terrible, but… but I’ve been here before. It doesn’t end up anywhere good. There was something you liked about these pieces. Maybe try to find it again?”

Wei Ying’s molars were going to grind themselves into dust if he wasn’t careful. Releasing a pent up breath, he looked over his shoulder at Mo Xuanyu, rueful. It wasn’t any easier to look at Mo Xuanyu, who seemed to be seeing right through the cracks in his armor to the heart of his problem. Even Wei Ying couldn’t see that deep. He was still struggling in the shallows, too far out to gain purchase, but not far enough that he could be pulled fully under yet. He was afraid of what would happen if he did find the depths, so he gave up some of the truth. “I’m not sure there’s a point anymore. These weren’t meant for me.”

“No shit.” He stepped closer to the fire pit and scoped out the damage a second time, the very massive pile of Wei Ying’s mistakes before them. “What makes you think there’s no point?”

“I fucked up,” he said. It was easy to speak the words plainly when Mo Xuanyu was looking at him with this much frankness in his gaze. That didn’t mean he had to elucidate the details.

“With Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying’s glare must have done the speaking for him, because Mo Xuanyu lifted his hands in surrender. “I don’t know our precious Hanguang-jun well, but if I can speak honestly, it’s not like you’ve ever been anything other than a mess—”

“Hey!”

“You’re a mess. I’m a mess. The entire fucking Burial Mounds is a mess. We try not to be, but when has that ever worked for long? In all the time I’ve known him, he’s never shied away from it or you. I guess I’m not one to talk and maybe you know things I don’t, but… but actions speak, don’t they?”

“Lan Zhan is a good man,” Wei Ying said, disagreement disguised as agreement. Just because Lan Zhan was good didn’t mean Wei Ying should abuse it; it didn’t mean he’d earned it. “That’s what his actions speak to.”

“So I bet if you apologized to him, he’d forgive you,” Mo Xuanyu said. He chafed his hands over his forearms and scuffed his boots across the dirt, not quite fidgeting, but close to it. “That’s—that’s a rare thing, you know? Not everyone gets forgiven for their fuck ups. But he’d forgive you.”

Guilt lodged itself in Wei Ying’s throat. “Mo Xuanyu, I…” It just wasn’t that simple. Sure, Wei Ying could apologize and maybe he could repair what they had. Perhaps it would be different and just as beautiful or perhaps it would be hellishly normal, going back to a balance Wei Ying was tired of fighting, or maybe they could be nothing now. Wei Ying wouldn’t blame Lan Zhan if he felt that way. Wei Ying could apologize, but he wouldn’t deserve his forgiveness.

If he never asked for it, then he wouldn’t have to put Lan Zhan in an uncomfortable position.

No, even he wasn’t that cold; he already knew he’d have to confront this eventually. Just. Not now. Not with these.

“I’ve always admired what you and he share,” Mo Xuanyu admitted after Wei Ying trailed off for too long. “Even when you disagree, you respect one another.”

This time it wasn’t a disagreement that stopped them, but he wasn’t about to tell Mo Xuanyu as much. What he’d done didn’t deserve Lan Zhan’s respect. “I’ll… I’ll think about what you’ve said.”

Though he said it, he didn’t really mean it, still too bruised by his own stupidity to consider more. Maybe he had been acting ridiculous, but it really did feel as though he needed to start over. He couldn’t undo what he’d done to Lan Zhan, but he could… hell, he didn’t even know really. There maybe wasn’t truly anything wrong with these beyond the associations Wei Ying was making to them. Each half-completed piece suddenly carried a burden it was never meant to shoulder.

“So you’re not going to light this all on fire?” Mo Xuanyu asked, suspicious.

He crouched down and picked up the silk panel that Lan Zhan had specifically criticized. It hadn’t been all that long ago—barely a few hours, shit, even after a shower the ink lingered on his palm—but it already felt like a lifetime.

Looking at those notes now, Lan Zhan, of course, hadn’t been wrong. He’d known that then, but he felt it more now.

He was so tired. Even this small piece of Lan Zhan here with him was… so much.

But. But he was a little calmer now, realized that throwing these all out were stupid. He did still owe Lan Zhan at least two of them even if he didn’t want to force even one of them on him. If he couldn’t viciously break the tether between them the way he ought to, then he needed to see this through.

“No,” he agreed. He did begin sorting out the chaff from the rest, though, tossing the obvious non-starters aside, pieces he should have realized were no good from the sketching stage. Now it was creepy, this… focus. Instead of feeling like a sign of creativity, an innocent enthusiasm he’d been unable to suppress, it felt like a sign of obsession. “But if you need some canvases, go to town on the rest. I don’t care.”

Mo Xuanyu snorted and crouched down, too, nodding along as Wei Ying shifted pieces around. “Maybe I’ll turn one into a mixed media project. One of your stupid fans can be scandalized when I destroy the sanctity of one of your castoffs.”

Wei Ying grimaced. “I wouldn’t call them fans.”

“Glory hounds? Connoisseurs? People who have been shamed into having decent taste? Idiots with too much money?”

“Aww, now you’re just being nice,” Wei Ying said, shoving at Mo Xuanyu just to tip him a bit off-balance. “I know you think I suck.”

“I’ve never said that,” Mo Xuanyu insisted. “I just think people don’t pay me enough for better work.”

“You’re right. They don’t,” Wei Ying said, laughing unhappily and shaking his head. Mo Xuanyu was doing some pretty cool shit when he wasn’t flouncing around instead of taking himself seriously. But that was just fine with Wei Ying since he paid his part of the rent with little enough fanfare for all the whining he did in the process. “Too bad I’ve got like eight years of experience and a reasonably developed work ethic on you.”

“Ha ha. All work and no play, Wei Ying. You’ve forgotten how to relax.” He gestured expansively. “Obviously.”

By the time he was done sorting, he was feeling a little bit better. The two pieces that remained didn’t seem all that terrible, though they were unfinished. Mo Xuanyu had been right. He did need to take a step back. This wasn’t all garbage even though he could now, maybe actually see Lan Zhan’s original point from way back.

This was Wei Ying’s work, but it was so submerged, subsumed in his very specific, very personal bullshit. He could see how someone might be disappointed if they were expecting better from him.

There was no way now that Wei Ying could save himself from being a disappointment to Lan Zhan, but he might at least complete the job. Rescuing the pieces that remained, he brought them back into the house.

He couldn’t fix the two of them and maybe Lan Zhan wouldn’t even want these pieces when he finished them—and all thoughts of a mural were out the window—but he’d do his best to tie off this loose end and repair what he could.

He didn’t want Lan Zhan to forgive him for it, but… but he couldn’t just leave it as it was.

He hadn’t heard from Lan Zhan since… since and though it had only been a week or so, maybe a little more, Wei Ying knew what that kind of silence meant and knew that, no matter how much he didn’t want to, he’d have to face this sooner or later, that Lan Zhan wouldn’t do it for him. The sooner the better, because Lan Zhan deserved that much from him even if he felt sicker with every passing moment at the thought of seeing him, even once he decided to come over, the two paintings as good as he could make them, as much like him as he could get them and not a damned thing like the mural to distance them as much as possible from it. As nice as Lan Zhan’s notes had been, he didn’t think they applied any longer.

All he could say for himself was thank fuck he tended to avoid working in oils. He couldn’t imagine having to sit on these fuckers any longer than he had to just so he could varnish them.

They were awkward, carried only the core of their original ideas, and, he felt, a little bit unexpected for a home like Lan Zhan’s, but they were real. They were him, for good or for ill, the way Lan Zhan might have wanted originally without quite saying. If Lan Zhan decided to hang them, they’d be interesting if nothing else.

He needed Lan Zhan to know Wei Ying wouldn’t stay hung up on this, that he could move past his feelings for Lan Zhan even if he was never able to say those words, even if it wasn’t actually true. This was his way of doing so.

It was monumentally awkward to haul a box with two bubble-wrapped paintings inside, a fresh can of paint in the best approximation of the color Lan Zhan’s wall was originally, and some rollers and paint pans through the lobby, up the elevator—each second spent on it was more torturous than the last—and down the hallway. If it was penance for playing such an awful game, then so be it, but by the time he got to Lan Zhan’s door, he was already exhausted, body aching from the weight of it all.

He wrestled with himself as he tried to fish Lan Zhan’s key from his pocket and almost overbalanced as the weight of the canvases and his backpack tipped him in a direction he didn’t intend to go. By the time he’d fixed his posture, he’d lost all of his nerve and stood there motionless, hand half-raised first to knock like he always did when he wasn’t sure whether Lan Zhan was home or not.

Just as he summoned the courage to lift his hand fully, the door opened. Lan Zhan, half distracted, stepped right into Wei Ying’s personal space, too quickly for Wei Ying to do more than scrabble back awkwardly and catch his foot on absolutely nothing. As distracted as Lan Zhan might have been, his reflexes were good, and he was able to easily reach out and steady Wei Ying by the wrist, yanking him forward before he fell. Listing forward, he lifted his hands to catch himself on Lan Zhan’s chest.

Of fucking course.

He only realized at this moment that today was a Wednesday.

Of fucking course.

“Wei Ying,” he said, a little breathless, beautiful and immaculately dressed in a pale button down shirt, a soft blazer wrapped lovingly around his shoulders and arms. He looked so incredibly good that Wei Ying wanted to swoon into his arms, push him back into his condo and…

He cleared his throat and then thought about why Lan Zhan might be dressed so nicely and then remembered what day it was. A lump of ice formed in his stomach. “Oh.” When he tried to back up, Lan Zhan held tightly to him, no matter how hard he wrenched his hand. “No, I should have realized—”

“Wei Ying,” he said again and this time he glanced at all the shit Wei Ying had foolishly brought along with him. Careful, he asked, “Why are you here?”

“I’ve been working,” he answered, telling himself that the way his body kept betraying him, trembling with nerves and guilt and hatred was normal. He’d get through it. He’d already wasted enough of Lan Zhan’s time. “I wanted to bring everything over and…” And what? What else was there?

Lan Zhan drew in an audible breath, looked down the hallway both ways, and then glanced at his watch.

Yeah, Wei Ying would want to know how soon he’d be free, too. “I won’t take up much of your time.”

Lan Zhan stepped back and gestured Wei Ying in. “What is all this?”

“Your paintings,” Wei Ying replied, resting them on the wall just inside the door. “And… an apology.”

Lan Zhan blinked, closing the door. “An apology?”

Toeing at the can as he placed it on the floor, too, he hiked up his backpack. The pan and rollers clattered around inside. “After what I did, I wanted to… I wanted to offer to repaint your wall. I’m sure you… well. The paintings will be easy to get rid of, so I thought I’d bring them by anyway and you can get rid of them or sell them or whatever, they’re yours, but—”

“But?” Lan Zhan’s voice was sharp. And then silence, because he said nothing else and there was not a whole lot Wei Ying could say. Though silence from Lan Zhan wasn’t terribly unusual, the quality of his silence was different from normal. It felt fraught in ways it never was before and when Wei Ying finally looked at Lan Zhan’s face, it was so carefully blank that Wei Ying knew that he had to be putting forth an effort to make it so. It wasn’t just the natural calm it settled into. No, this was deliberate.

“I wouldn’t suggest burning them,” he tried. A joke. A bad one. “Lan Zhan?”

“This is really what you want to do? Get rid of the evidence?”

Wei Ying blinked and looked down at the can of paint. “I’m… not sure how to answer that, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Zhan’s gaze captured him and kept him trapped, pinned metaphorically to the wall once Wei Ying could finally lift his head and look at him. “The truth would be nice.”

The truth was too fragile to speak and pointless. The fact that Wei Ying had gotten himself in over his head was neither here nor there and Lan Zhan shouldn’t have had to deal with it. But he could at least be truthful to the letter of Lan Zhan’s words if not the spirit. “I want to do what I thought would make you happy.”

“Do I seem unhappy?”

Yes, Wei Ying wanted to shout. He knew he’d fucked up with the—with the rest of what they were doing with one another, got in too deep, was making it supremely awkward just by not getting the fuck over himself like he ought to have.

He felt again in this moment for Li Wenfang, chasing after something he couldn’t have. He felt worse than Li Wenfang because he’d gotten far, far more and risked losing everything else, too, without knowing how to fix it.

He’d thought this would go at least part of the way toward doing so, prove to Lan Zhan that he could let go, but he supposed not.

“I would be unhappy if you didn’t finish the work,” Lan Zhan said, unable to look at him, “but I understand how that might be uncomfortable for you now. If you would rather abandon or destroy it, that is your prerogative. I won’t stop you.” Though his words were filled with candor, there was none of the warmth, none of the sense of honesty Lan Zhan imbued his every word with. He spoke with the sense that the words needed to be spoken, but he felt nothing at all about them.

“After what happened, how could you want it?”

“How could I not?”

That didn’t make any sense, but he found it impossible to take this from Lan Zhan, too, when he’d already upset the balance of this thing between them, the years and years they’d known one another ruined and twisted because of Wei Ying’s selfish disregard. “Lan Zhan, I’ll… do my best for you. I agreed to this. I’ll see it through.”

“Thank you. Let me know when you want to come by. I’ll ensure I’m not here.”

Wei Ying swallowed around the acid-tight ball that lodged itself in his throat. Wow, he really didn’t want to see Wei Ying that much, huh? Wei Ying had no right to want anything else, but it still hurt. It was one thing to know he didn’t deserve to be forgiven, it was another to see the truth of it in action. “I… deserve that.”

Lan Zhan didn’t seem to notice whatever horrible expression Wei Ying’s face was surely going through. How could he, when he wouldn’t even look at Wei Ying? Wei Ying should have been glad for the reprieve. “I have some business to attend to. You’re welcome to stay, but I have to go.”

Like hell Wei Ying would be staying under the circumstances. “You’ve always told me not to come over on Wednesdays.”

Lan Zhan took a shuddering breath and squared his shoulders, still staring past him. “Circumstances change. You needn’t worry about my Wednesdays any longer.”

“Lan Zhan, I’m not going to bother you today. I didn’t even realize,” he replied, almost talking over him. “And… I’m sorry. I’ll come back tomorrow or—or Friday.” Friday would be better. He’d have a little more time to recover from the agony of this. He’d thought himself prepared. That was the real joke here.

“Fine.” Lan Zhan added, motioning pointedly toward the door, “If you don’t want to stay?”

What an eloquently understated way to tell Wei Ying to fuck off. Without needing to be told twice, he hurried out, didn’t say goodbye, and bypassed the elevators, heading toward the stairwell instead. As he opened the door that led to it, he risked a glance back, both relieved and disappointed when Lan Zhan wasn’t looking his way as he waited at the bank of elevators, head tilted back to expose the perfect, beautiful line of his neck. And then he sprinted down the stairs, hoping to beat Lan Zhan out so he wouldn’t have to cross paths with him yet again outside.

If he saw him again so quickly, he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t crack entirely under the strain, tell Lan Zhan everything because if it was already this ruined, why not salt the scorched earth of it, too?

Wei Ying wasn’t drinking for breakfast, absolutely not, but it would have been a lie to say he wasn’t considering doing just that as he stood in the kitchen choking down the worst, undercooked congee he’d ever made and that was even after he dumped every spice known to man in it. Well, considering was probably a poor word to describe it. That would require actually thinking about anything and that was, ha, not something Wei Ying wanted to do right now. Thinking led nowhere good. So instead he stared into space as he chewed.

Wei Ying had been burned a great deal by his thoughts of late. Now he was getting burned by rice. Such was life.

Sometimes, a man just wanted to exist. That was not, he felt, too much to ask in his opinion. But then again, having an opinion would require thinking and Wei Ying still wasn’t up for that.

“—ing? Earth to the spaceman standing in the way of the fridge while risking burning the entire house down,” Wen Qing said, sharp, like she’d been talking for some time and Wei Ying was only now cluing in.

“Huh?” Wei Ying asked. “What’s—” And then he heard the sizzle of burning rice and looked at the pot, steaming away unhappily, almost all of the liquid now gone. “Fuck’s sake.” He grabbed the pot and moved it to another burner and then twisted the nob. He looked at Wen Qing again. “What?”

“Are you okay?” Wen Qing asked, barely containing the sound of annoyance in her own voice. “You’ve been…”

“I’ve been fine,” Wei Ying replied, “because I’m fine. Everything is fine.”

“You’re burning congee at six in the morning,” Wen Qing pointed out. “Why are you even awake this early? And why are you making congee? And why is it still cooking if you’re eating it?”

“I… might have forgotten to take the rest of it off the stove when I was done. Mistakes happen.”

“You don’t even like making it.”

“Didn’t have to think about it,” he replied. “It sounded like a good idea at the time.” And then he shrugged. “Anyway, there was rice in the freezer, so it’s not like I’ve been standing here for two hours or anything.”

“Are you sure?” She reached up and rubbed her thumb under Wei Ying’s eye, just barely skimming over his cheekbone. “You look like you haven’t slept.”

Wei Ying batted her hand away and scowled. He was sleeping fine, passed out by one every night just like clockwork. If he woke up early from time to time, how was that her business? If he beat his head against every piece he tried to produce for Lan Huan, how was that her business? If all he could paint was those damned cranes, gold and white and bold-stroked black, like he’d used up the last of himself getting those two paintings out for Lan Zhan and could now only endlessly repeat the fucking mural on any surface he touched, how was any of it her business? Or anyone’s? If he deleted Lan Huan’s polite texts and Nie Huaisang’s more provocative voice messages and ignored his brother’s scathing calls, who cared?

If he skulked his way to Lan Zhan’s condo at precisely ten every morning after shamefully alerting Lan Zhan—no responses back, of course, but there were read receipts to show Lan Zhan was aware—who cared? Three days in a row of doing that and he was maybe twenty percent of the way through completing the actual painted parts even after working for, oh, seven hours straight each day, but that was fine, too, because who would care?

Wei Ying didn’t. None of it mattered right now, not the guilt of knowing Lan Zhan had paid for something he would forever have to associate with this bullshit, not the ache he experienced knowing that he couldn’t be with Lan Zhan the way he wanted to, not the frustration of not being able to create anything, when painting had always been the one thing that came to him as easy as breathing. He didn’t always love the result, but he could always do it. Even at his worst, he was capable of that much.

It felt like a penance that it should be taken from him along with everything else, what did these minor annoyances matter? Wen Qing wanted to pester him because he looked a bit like shit? Fine. That was cool, too.

“I’m fine.”

“Uh huh,” she said, unimpressed, “and when are you going to pull the other one?”

In all honesty, his attention was already drifting back to all the things he should have been doing. Thinking again, he should stop doing that. He squinted at her, realizing only belatedly that she’d asked a question. “The other what?”

She crossed her arms and frowned. “The other leg, Wei Ying. When are you going to pull my other leg? I’d like to have some warning if possible.”

Wei Ying choked down one more spoonful of the inexpertly spiced rice paste bullshit he’d made and glared at her. “You’re not normally this concerned.” That was so much of the reason why he liked her. She knew sometimes people just had bad days and left them alone. He began scraping the congealed mess into the garbage can tucked between the sink and the refrigerator, spoon clacking viciously against the chipped ceramic of the bowl. Sure, she’d ask, but if someone blanked her, she usually moved on and let them stew if that was what they were determined to do.

“Normally, Mo Xuanyu’s not singing the minute I get back from Qingyang’s about how you tried to torch your work.”

The spoon flew out of his hand after a particularly violent scrape and clattered into the garbage can. “He tattled.”

“He tried not to,” Wen Qing offered, for all the good it did, “but then you started doing stuff like this.”

“Last I checked, I helped pay the rent on this place, too. I can do what I want.” Grimacing, he reached into the trash to retrieve the spoon. At least it didn’t get very far.

“That’s true, but you normally don’t.” She stepped close and took the bowl from his hands and placed it in the sink. She also scraped the pot and then filled it with a little bit of water before placing it back on a burner to warm back up so the rest would be easier to clean up. Pouring him a glass of juice and placing it on the table, she tapped the surface so he’d join her there.

He did not want to join her there. In fact, he wanted to run in the opposite direction entirely because he knew that look she was wearing and it did none of them any credit. It was the same expression jiejie got when she felt Wei Ying or Jiang Cheng needed to talk about something and they got—entirely justifiably in Wei Ying’s opinion—recalcitrant about it.

They remained standing, as though she knew just as well as him that neither of them really wanted to be here having this conversation.

“What happened with Lan Zhan?” she asked, point blank, no holds barred, utterly unfair in the way her large eyes beseeched him. In a way, she was just like jiejie and therefore he had a hard time saying no to her.

“I fucked up,” he admitted, downing half the too-sweet drink in one go. At least it was cold. He brought the glass up to his temple, dragged a cold line down his cheek almost to his jaw with it. “I fucked up with Lan Zhan and I can’t fix it. I thought I could, but I’m a moron and he’s apparently a masochist.”

“How did you fuck up?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Wei Ying.”

“It’s private. I’m not going to breach that privacy further.”

“Okay,” she said, accepting ungraciously, but accepting nonetheless. “Then what happened with the fix? Or is that private, too?”

“The fix?” He laughed lightly, tipped the glass slightly in one direction and then the other, watching as the liquid inside remained steady. “The fix was offering to repaint his wall so he wouldn’t have to look at what I did anymore.”

“And?”

“He said no. He wants me to finish it. And it turns my stomach to go over there to work on it. How can he still want it up there when—?”

“When?”

Wei Ying’s skin went hot. “When I’m such an asshole.”

“I can’t imagine,” Wen Qing said, dry.

But Wen Qing offered him a frown and patted him on the shoulder, a sure sign that she didn’t know what was going on either and didn’t have any ideas for how he should go forward with this problem. There wasn’t a whole lot that she didn’t have an opinion about after all, though she was often too sensible to throw it around without permission.

“So I’m that screwed, huh?” Wei Ying asked, laughing lightly, a little bitterly. What was there to do? What could he do except move on?

“I didn’t say that.” But she bit her lip and furrowed her brow.

“You didn’t have to,” he pointed out. It somehow hit him harder, hearing it from Wen Qing. Or rather: not hearing it from Wen Qing. She was the most sensible of them all. If even she didn’t know what to do, there was no hope for Wei Ying.

“You look like hell, Wei Ying. Have you considered taking a break? Whatever’s going on with you and Lan Zhan isn’t going to resolve if you’re too busy losing your shit about it to do the right thing.”

What the hell even was the right thing at this point?

“I’ve taken lots of breaks,” Wei Ying answered. Well, he’d taken lots of breaks for the shiny couple of weeks—ha, not even that long, maybe a week-and-a-half, the best and most terrifying days in his whole life—he’d managed to not screw things up with Lan Zhan. He just wasn’t one to settle down or stop unless someone else told him to. He always needed to be active and busy. Anything less and he’d stagnate and then he’d be left to think about things that fact didn’t bear thinking about. “I just want this done. I’m sick of it.”

Like this, like now. If he could work, he wouldn’t be moping.

“You haven’t been to see your sister in some time.” Wen Qing tilted her head, clearly not interested in hearing Wei Ying. “A change of scenery might be good for you. At the very least, you would be able to clear your head a bit. We can manage a little while without you, you know?”

“I…” But he had so much to do, especially if he wanted to return Lan Zhan’s commission fee to him, which had been generous even by Lan Zhan’s standards. The thought of being this indebted to Lan Zhan when he’d messed up this badly didn’t sit well with him. Then again, he couldn’t shrug Wen Qing off the way he kind of shrugged Mo Xuanyu off either. “I’ll call her once I’m done with Lan Zhan’s bedroom.”

“Okay,” she said, resigned, pushing herself away from the table.

“Hey, Wen-jie?” he called after her, a little punch drunk as she headed toward her space. She turned around and cocked one eyebrow. “How do you get over someone? Hypothetically?”

She searched his face, frowning at what she saw.

“I don’t know how you’d do it,” she answered eventually, hesitant, “but if it was me, I’d try to put myself out there with someone else.”

Wei Ying nodded, discarding the idea immediately. He figured her answer wouldn’t be useful to him.

Even if he liked other people, how could anyone move on from Lan Zhan?

The problem was: Wen Qing’s idea stuck with him. Just a little bit. Just enough. It accompanied him when he went to Lan Zhan’s place, worked his ass off through the morning and afternoon, and when he dragged himself back home again. It was as clear as anything to him now that he wasn’t good for Lan Zhan and it was for the best that he move on. He would… he would try to be there for Lan Zhan if and when Lan Zhan wanted to be friends again, but he’d treated Lan Zhan so poorly all because he wanted too much from Lan Zhan and that wasn’t fair.

If he could get over Lan Zhan, then it would be for the best. He could be the good friend he already knew it was possible for him to be instead of the shitty not-exactly-boyfriend he’d been before.

Maybe if he’d had more experience going in, it would be different. If he hadn’t fixated so, so much on Lan Zhan specifically all this time, he wouldn’t have been put so much pressure on the whole thing. It wasn’t Lan Zhan’s fault that Wei Ying barely liked anyone and had only ever felt… felt that way about Lan Zhan specifically. Maybe Lan Zhan’s way of doing things wasn’t so bad.

If he’d put forth more of an effort to like anyone else at any point in the past, perhaps it wouldn’t have gone so far sideways.

It didn’t feel particularly good to think of anyone besides Lan Zhan and he couldn’t imagine ever wanting physical intimacy with anyone else, but how would he know if he didn’t actually try? If he didn’t at least entertain the notion that it was possible?

Which was how he found himself sitting on Jiang Cheng’s couch a few days later after leaving Lan Zhan’s for the night, fed up of not getting to see Lan Zhan while being surrounding by so many reminders of what Wei Ying was losing that it made his head spin with the determination to do something, even if that something was just letting Jiang Cheng yell at him for a while while he made another mistake. After another five days in total—he’d had a little trouble with one section, put himself a little behind his self-imposed schedule to get this done as quickly as fucking possible—the mural was a good fifty percent done now and he’d found a decent rhythm again, accepting that this was his lot in life and the only thing he could do was his best and hope his best made up for even a tiny sliver of all the many worst things he’d done leading up to it.

Trying wasn’t easy as he discovered while he fiddled with dating app after dating app, his feet kicked up onto the coffee table in just the way Wei Ying knew Jiang Cheng hated. Jiang Cheng scowled at him from the kitchen where he was doing his level best to destroy the culinary arts as a whole if the noise level was anything to go by.

“I really don’t know why you’re this fucking dumb,” Jiang Cheng said.

“Hey,” Wei Ying answered with feeling, putting the kibosh on yet another profile that he took issue with. It didn’t matter which ones he looked at, good photography or bad, good bio or bad, none of them were good enough for him to even bother putting his own pictures up or post any inane words that would accurately sum up his character for anyone who might be interested. “Just because it’s true doesn’t mean you have to say it.”

Jiang Cheng wasn’t wrong though. He did feel like the dumbest prick on the planet.

“No, really. How do you expect this to go? You’re going to find some idiot on there you like—and you don’t like anyone ever—and just live happily ever after? Is that how this is supposed to go?”

“Yes, Jiang Cheng. I expect you to be the maid of honor at my wedding to cocksucker69 who just wants to get laid right now, but might be interested in more later. He’ll take one look at me and see his future husband. It’s going to be so beautiful,” Wei Ying shot back. Jiang Cheng was missing the entire damned point of this. “Obviously.”

Jiang Cheng sniffed disdainfully. “What I don’t understand is why you’re only now trying to get the fuck over Lan Zhan. Like, why not ten years ago when you figured it out?”

“You overestimate me, Jiang Cheng. If I knew all the way back then, none of this would have happened.” No, back then he was even more of an idiot than now and didn’t realize what he was feeling was what he was feeling. “But hey, thanks for the reminder about how pathetic I am. That’s really helpful.”

“You literally called me the day you met him to tell me you’d found the love of your life.”

“Jiang Cheng, I was just really happy to meet him. I didn’t mean it.” Except for how he did and he just didn’t know it yet.

He gritted his teeth through the entirely fair assessment from Jiang Cheng about how much he’d misunderstood his own feelings at first. For a long time, he had thought Lan Zhan had just taken him on as a pet project and suffered through Wei Ying’s everything as the price of nurturing greatness. It was a long time before he realized that Lan Zhan actually liked him as a person. It was even longer before he realized what he felt was not just admiration or friendship, having sailed fully into love territory and bypassing the realization that he might have liked Lan Zhan a little bit first.

It had been scary to realize what he felt was love like a shot right out of the blue. One moment, he was fine, normal. The next, Lan Zhan actually was the love of his fucking life, too late to do anything about because, ha, they’d known each other for so long by that point and Lan Zhan was, as always, Lan Zhan, lovely, wonderful, uninterested, unattainable.

“If you’re really determined—and please remember that I think this is the stupidest idea you’ve ever had—what’s wrong with going out to a bar or something?” Jiang Cheng asked. Then he swore and there was another noise in the kitchen.

Wei Ying turned, braced his arm across the back of the couch. “You need help in there?”

“Fuck off. I can do it.” Then he grunted in annoyance, following it up finally with a crow of triumph. “Anyway, what is this even? A sex thing or, like, a companionship thing?” Wei Ying swung around to look at him just in time to see the way he grimaced at the question. “Don’t answer that, please. I don’t want to know about the sex you’re not having. Just…” He dragged his hand across his face. “Are you lonely, you stupid asshole?”

That question struck him like lightning, punched the breath right out of his lungs. “I’m not…” But his pulse jumped as he thought it through and his body went cold. “I’m not lonely.”

“Because if you are,” Jiang Cheng said, gritting his teeth again, he really needed to look into that, “you know you can… you can come over anytime you need to, you know that, right? You don’t have to prove anything by trying to date other people.”

“There’re people at Burial Mounds, Jiang Cheng,” Wei Ying pointed out, a total and complete deflection. Wei Ying wasn’t a crier. He didn’t cry about anything, but there were tears prickling at his eyes now as he stared furiously at anything that wasn’t Jiang Cheng’s face.

“So I’m not good enough company now?” Jiang Cheng replied, bitter. This… he hadn’t meant to open up this can of worms and if he was more on his game, he wouldn’t have. Jiang Cheng had always been a bit touchy about Burial Mounds. If he has to deal with this, too? If someone else was going to be pissed at him? He didn’t have the heart for it.

“That’s not what I meant,” Wei Ying answered quickly. “Jiang Cheng, it’s not…” But it was true, wasn’t it? He was lonely, but he was lonely specifically for Lan Zhan’s company. Hell, he even missed Turpentine even though he saw her every day, knowing that one day soon he wouldn’t get to see her anymore. He kept taking fucking bags of those stupid pineapple treats along with him and tucked them into Lan Zhan’s pantry because Lan Zhan might not buy them for her and she didn’t deserve to be punished for Wei Ying’s failings. “Thank you. It means a lot to me that you…” He pursed his lips. How could he express his gratitude for Jiang Cheng. “Jiang Cheng, please. Just. I need to not be hung up on him anymore, right? I don’t know how else to do that except by seeing what else is out there. We all know what over a decade of being complacent got me. Shouldn’t I at least try the opposite?”

Jiang Cheng snorted and shook his head. He turned away and pulled something off the stove and grabbed plates.

“Get your ass over here and plate up,” Jiang Cheng said, dropping the dishes and a few bowls onto the table, stir-fried vegetables and noodles, fried chicken, all of it red as hell because deep down inside Jiang Cheng was good people. He wasn’t jiejie, of course. No one could be, but that didn’t mean Wei Ying didn’t appreciate his efforts. “You do know this is going to blow up in your face, right?”

“Tell me, Jiang Cheng. What about this situation hasn’t blown up in my face already?”

Jiang Cheng grimaced, which only meant he knew that Wei Ying was right and didn’t want to admit to it. The argument, if it could even be called that, was called for time while they shoved food into their faces, but Wei Ying knew it was only a temporary reprieve.

As soon as they were done, in fact, Jiang Cheng held out his hand. “Give me your phone,” he said, authoritative, opening and closing his hand like he was a child who was this close to actually shouting gimme.

“Why?” Wei Ying said suspiciously, swiping it up from where he’d left it on the table and cradling it to his chest. “No.”

“Give. Me. The. Phone.” And then, because he was a bastard, he reached across the table and snatched it from him. He launched himself around the table and plastered himself to Jiang Cheng’s back, mortified to see Jiang Cheng categorically rejecting every profile he came across.

“What the fuck, Jiang Cheng?”

“What?”

“You can’t just block everyone!”

“The fuck I can’t!” He waved the phone around and then stabbed at the screen again. “I can’t let you date a loser. I already tried and look where it got us.”

“Lan Zhan’s not a loser,” Wei Ying said, “and we weren’t dating.”

“You took him on a fucking date. He took you on a date and don’t say he didn’t because I saw you at Luo Qingyang’s performance together before you disappeared together. It looked like a date. You invited him to my house. What else are you going to call it?”

“Uh… fuck buddies being nice to one another?” Even to Wei Ying, it sounded flimsy. “Listen, I’d know if I was dating Lan Zhan. He’d have said something.” Fuck buddies. Heavens above, that sounded so coarse. Lan Zhan would hate it, but what better description was there? Lan Zhan wouldn’t have been able to walk away from him so easily if it was anything more than that, right?

It was only after he said those words and saw the red flush of Jiang Cheng’s skin that he realized his mistake. “You two actually fucked? Like, that happened? And you brought him here? And now you’re trying to do this?”

If Jiang Cheng wasn’t careful, he was going to run the risk of stroking out.

“You actually fucked,” Jiang Cheng said, reiterating the fact deplorably. And then he narrowed his eyes and demolished Wei Ying’s chances with three more men. “You’re basing all of this bullshit on the fact that you think Lan Zhan would have said something about you two dating? The same Lan Zhan who acts like he’s going to get punished if he so much as utters a single word where anyone else can hear it? That Lan Zhan’s going to tell you anything?”

“He tells me stuff,” Wei Ying insisted. “He talks all the time.” Well, he did once. Probably not anymore.

Jiang Cheng just made a tutting sound of disapproval and got back to what he was doing. At this rate, the whole app would be useless to him. In truth, Wei Ying found he didn’t much mind it and this way, he could easily blame Jiang Cheng for the failure. He’d tried at least. Put forth some effort anyway. What could he do if Jiang Cheng wanted to take it away from him?

“I think this is why you’re single, Jiang Cheng,” Wei Ying said, still draped across Jiang Cheng’s back, watching now as Jiang Cheng obliterated more of Lan Zhan’s competition. It was soothing in a way, vindicating to see that Jiang Cheng didn’t like any of the people Wei Ying also didn’t like. Of course, Jiang Cheng would probably have blocked Lan Zhan, too, if he was on here, but that was neither here nor there.

“It’s none of your business why I’m single. Who are you, mom? Fuck off,” Jiang Cheng said. “There.”

He handed Wei Ying’s phone back to him and then poked at a bit more of the detritus of their meal, as though all that swiping had worked up more of an appetite in him. As expected, there wasn’t much left and certainly nobody Wei Ying would be interested in. It really was hopeless. Carelessly, Jiang Cheng filled Wei Ying’s bowl with more noodles and tapped the rim with his chopsticks. He sat back down and ate a little bit more while Jiang Cheng kept going. “Dating is stupid anyway. You wouldn’t have been happy with any of them.”

“Oh, is that so, huh? So what am I supposed to do then?”

Jiang Cheng shrugged. “Find someone better than these assholes? How am I supposed to know?”

“Too bad jiejie didn’t still live here. I bet she’d know someone worthwhile.”

“Jie married Jin Zixuan. I love her to death, but her taste is suspect, too.”

That—Wei Ying wanted to argue with him, defend jiejie’s honor, but… he wasn’t wrong. “I’m telling her you said that.”

Jiang Cheng turned wide, innocent eyes on him and shrugged again, shoving noodles into his mouth, utterly unconcerned by this. After chewing and swallowing, he proceeded to ignore Wei Ying’s threat. “Let’s go out to a bar or something. I’ll find someone for you.”

Wei Ying had to admit it: he choked when Jiang Cheng said it. He choked and didn’t even have the excuse of food or drink to blame it on. He choked on nothing except Jiang Cheng’s words. “Jiang Cheng, you don’t even like men. How are you supposed to help me?”

“Okay, one. I know you’re theoretically not only into men, so that’s a shit argument on the face of it. And two, I don’t like art either, but I can still recognize quality when I see it.” He fished his phone from his pocket. “Also, I’m going to tell Luo Qingyang to go with us. She has the best taste of all.”

Jiang Cheng really had no feelings in his heart for Wei Ying, no interest in being a good, filial brother. This was truly cruel. “You can’t drag Mianmian into this.” It’ll get back to Wen Qing and she’ll beat me up.

“Why not? She’s been complaining that you’ve disappeared.”

“When did this happen? Since when are you so close with Mianmian?” Is Wen Qing going to beat you up? Was he going to have to choose between them? He didn’t want to get caught in the middle of anything. “Jiang Cheng, answer me.”

“Shut the fuck up,” he said, stiff, but red was blooming across his face and he wouldn’t look at Wei Ying and fuck he was going to end up in the middle of someone else’s drama, wasn’t he?

“You know she and Wen Qing—”

“I said shut the fuck up.”

“Jiang Cheng.”

“Shut it.”

But he couldn’t just let this slide. Not because he was concerned—though he was—but they all needed to be fair with one another, right? “You know she and Wen-jie…?”

“I am perfectly aware.”

How could Wei Ying have missed this? “Jiang Cheng, I don’t think…” Well, it just really sucked that apparently he and Jiang Cheng were both stuck in some awkward romantic entanglements that were for sure going to end badly. He supposed at least he’d gotten somewhere with his. Where could Jiang Cheng go? “Are you okay?”

His face only flushed further and he was gritting his teeth so hard that Wei Ying could actually see the veins in his neck pulsing. “Wei Ying!”

Wei Ying decided to wrap his arms around Jiang Cheng and give him a hug, popping back to his feet to round the table again. They both deserved it even if Jiang Cheng would fight to the death before he acknowledged that he ever wanted one. “Does she know how you feel?”

“I regret knowing you.”

“There, there, Jiang Cheng. I understand.” And even if he was being obnoxious about it, he did. It hurt when things didn’t go the way you might have wanted them to. And in all honesty, he could see how Jiang Cheng might develop feelings for Mianmian. Before he knew Lan Zhan, he himself thought he might have had feelings for Mianmian for a few minutes anyway, which was more than he felt about anyone else.

Most people did at one time or another.

“No, you really don’t,” Jiang Cheng answered, the words strangled. “Fuck, I know, okay? I like Wen Qing, too.”

Wei Ying scrambled backward. “Holy shit. Man, that fucking sucks.” Wen Qing and Mianmian? The two most unavailable women in the whole city? Wow. Jiang Cheng really did reach for the stars. But it made sense, too. Jiang Cheng’s standards had always been high. It really was no wonder he was single.

“Are you… okay?”

Turning, Jiang Cheng shoved at his shoulder, almost pushing him until he stumbled. “Not all of us are you. I’m fine.”

Wei Ying opened his mouth to say something else and then shut it again. Nothing he could say would help. Patting Jiang Cheng’s arm, he smiled as best he could. “Well, if I have to be the butt of some convoluted joke so you can hang out with the two most peerless women in our lives, fine. I’ll text Wen Qing and see if she wants to go out, too. If… that’s okay with you?”

God, it was hard enough liking one person. Wei Ying really didn’t know how the rest of the people in his life did it, liking so many. It sounded complicated.

“It would be awkward if you didn’t,” Jiang Cheng said, distracted. Would it hurt him to see them together? They were always cool around other people, but… but Wei Ying could only imagine how hurtful it might be. “I know it can’t go anywhere anyway. No point trying to pretend. It’s nice to be around them anyway.”

“Are you sure?”

One way or the other, he wouldn’t be getting out of this now that Jiang Cheng had it in his mind to do it. What was the worst that could happen, really? It had been a long time since he, Mianmian, and Wen Qing had actually gone out together as well. The same could be said of him and Jiang Cheng.

A bar or two… what could it hurt? He already knew he wasn’t going to find anyone there and he could still pretend he was trying, letting Jiang Cheng believe he was helping even though it wouldn’t matter. It was possibly a baby step in the right direction. Nothing would come of tonight, but acknowledging that he could even try to look at someone else was something.

When Jiang Cheng nodded, he went ahead and sent a text to Wen Qing which was how, not three hours later, they were all sitting together in a cramped little booth at the shitty bar they all liked because it was unpretentious and the drinks were strong.

It was nice, if nothing else, to be spending time with them, even if he already knew this wasn’t going to go anywhere, everything in him telling him that this was wrong. They’d have a good night. He’d pretend like he’d look at his options and then he’d go home and figure out some other way.

Good plan, he thought, droll. He might at least figure out what he for sure didn’t like.

That was progress at least. He shouldn’t feel bad for himself for having given it a shot, for getting this far.

He shouldn’t, but he did.

“Wei Ying,” Mianmian was saying as she returned to the table, hands full of bottles and glasses that she sat deftly on the table. After scooting into the booth, she threw her arm around Wen Qing’s shoulder casually. Wei Ying couldn’t fail to notice that her hand was also dangerously close to brushing against Jiang Cheng’s bicep. From the tense way he carried himself, he was aware of it, too. “It’s about time you threw yourself into the pool.”

Wei Ying laughed awkwardly and gave her a smile that he hoped didn’t look too suspiciously wooden. There was no knowing how much she knew about Wei Ying’s current circumstances without outright asking or having her say as much. An opening gambit like this gave nothing away beyond what Jiang Cheng would have already told her. There was no guarantee—in fact, it was quite unlikely—that Wen Qing had blabbed, after all. It was quite probable that she hadn’t. She wasn’t the type. So Mianmian wouldn’t have gotten much out of her.

Their circles were small, however, even for Lan Zhan, who kept to himself the most out of all of them. And more importantly, Mianmian knew Li Wenfang. So it was entirely possible that she knew entirely too much without anyone else’s interference. He hadn’t thought about that when he’d agreed to see Mianmian like this.

Wen Qing was looking at him with frank appraisal, like she was trying to figure him out, and then she seemed to get it, eyes narrowing at both him and Mianmian before she blurted, “For fuck’s sake, Wei Ying. You said we were getting drinks. Why are we talking about pools?”

“We are! Look at all the drinks Mianmian brought us. We’re drinking.” To Mianmian, he said, self-deprecating, droll, hopefully distracting, “Yingying is all grown up, I guess,” which earned him a brief, fond look at least. There was nothing here that caught Wei Ying’s eye, but she appeared to be searching for something out past his shoulder anyway. “Your last performance was great, by the way.”

She smiled back at him, ducking her head in pleasure. “Thanks for coming. I’m sorry I didn’t catch you before you headed out.”

“You had more important people to see,” he offered. She smiled at Wen Qing, just like he expected she would. And then, surprisingly, she tipped her head in acknowledgment of Jiang Cheng. For him, her smile was equally pleased. Huh.

“But we’re not talking about me right now,” she said, all business suddenly.

Ah, ha. Shit. “We can. I’m more than happy to talk about you, Mianmian, you know that.”

“Really, you’re too kind.” Her voice was dry and a little gruff as she said this, rolling her eyes. “But I’m more interested in what’s going on here with you. I’ve… heard a few things. I don’t know what to believe.” Her gaze again caught on the rest of the bar, her head tilting thoughtfully. “It’s pretty wild.”

Wei Ying’s heart thudded, thudded to such a painful degree that he almost grabbed one of the shots sitting so tantalizingly close. But he had to know, right? If it concerned Lan Zhan, he needed to be aware. The Lans stayed away from gossip and wouldn’t hear anything bad said about themselves to themselves.

Was it local or was it from Li Wenfang?

“Mianmian…” If Mianmian was hearing things, then it was already a mess. Sighing, he scrubbed his hand over his face. Though he wanted to reach for one of the shots arrayed before them, he swiped up the bottle of beer in front of him instead and took a swig. “What have you heard?”

If he was going to have to kill Li Wenfang for starting this, he would. If he hadn’t come into their town and started spreading rumors to Mo Xuanyu…

If he had to yell the whole city into submission, he would.

Mianmian’s brow furrowed. “It’s going around that you broke our stoic Hanguang-jun’s heart.”

Wei Ying, who was in the middle of taking another bracing drink of beer, choked on the fluid. It burned going down and he coughed to clear his throat, too late. The damage was done. “Excuse me,” he rasped. “Say what now?”

Even Jiang Cheng looked a little hunted at hearing that and, instead of going immediately to bat for Wei Ying, kept his head down and suddenly sipped at his own shot, feigning innocence and looking stupid until he finally just downed the rest of it. Mianmian tried to catch his eye, but he refused to give in and look back at her. Wen Qing’s lips were pursed in displeasure. She asked, “Where did you hear that?”

“Apparently he missed an appointment with a potential buyer earlier this week,” Mianmian said with a knowledgeable lilt. “That’s kind of what set it off? Zonghui’s been trying to do damage control, but…”

Wei Ying coughed again, heart seizing in his chest. If Nie Zonghui was doing damage control, then Nie Zonghui was doing it for Nie Huaisang, which meant…

It didn’t mean anything. Surely there was a misunderstanding somewhere in all of this. Just because Nie Huaisang was never wrong didn’t mean he was right this time. Maybe he should have listened to more of those messages Nie Huaisang had been leaving him before deleting them outright. He’d only given the first one half a chance and it hadn’t included anything about Lan Zhan’s broken heart.

No, no. Mianmian got it wrong. Nie Zonghui was wrong. Nie Huaisang was wrong. Everyone was wrong. They didn’t have all the facts.

“Wild, right?” Mianmian said, a little defensive and unsure. “Don’t worry. I set Zonghui straight for the both of you so he could do his thing. I haven’t talked to Lan Zhan much lately, so I don’t know what’s going on that everyone is thinking it was his heart that got broken—everyone has a bad day sometimes, right, even he’s bound to miss an appointment once in his life—but I told him you wouldn’t do that. I mean, how would it even happen, right? Everyone knows you… well, you know. But Lan Zhan…? He doesn’t date in town. Obviously, it’s impossible.”

The bar was dark and shadowed enough that Wei Ying was pretty sure his wince was hidden, but he couldn’t be sure. At least he hoped his flush would go unremarked on or be blamed on the alcohol. “Everyone knows I what?” He wouldn’t touch what they both know was impossible for Lan Zhan: that Lan Zhan couldn’t be in love with anyone.

“Wei Ying, come on,” she said. “Everyone knows you’re in love with him.”

Aaaaaand time for that shot. It was one thing to hear it from Mo Xuanyu; he exaggerated everything. But if Mianmian was saying the same thing, then everyone really did know. He swiped up the nearest glass and assaulted his already abused throat with another round of burning liquor.

“Maybe this wasn’t the best idea,” Wen Qing said, gentler toward Wei Ying than she usually was. Harsher to Mianmian: “I think we’ve heard enough about rumors, huh? None of us knows Lan Zhan’s side of this.”

Jiang Cheng slid away from Mianmian, shifting closer to Wei Ying in the process. He didn’t quite grimace at Wei Ying, but it was close. He did squeeze Wei Ying’s knee in solidarity or… something, which was weird and uncool and unexpected because they weren’t the type to make attempts at comfort and nothing about this conversation warranted it. It didn’t bother him at all to have fun-house mirror versions the truth thrown back at him. He had caused Lan Zhan pain and he was in love with Lan Zhan. But whatever everyone in town was imagining was the cause of the former… there was no way they could know the truth. Even Wei Ying didn’t know, other than he’d been an embarrassing asshole and pissed Lan Zhan off. Those things all had occurred in private and even Jiang Cheng didn’t know the precise details.

“Anyway,” she said, agreeable. “I just wanted you to know that I’m glad you’re branching out. I know we’re not super close these days either, but I was worried about you when I heard. You know better than anyone how inscrutable Lan Zhan is. I don’t want to see you get hurt when the expectations are different, right?”

“Qingyang!” Wen Qing said.

Wei Ying wasn’t sure whether he should be offended or not. He was, in a way, warmed by Mianmian’s concern, but on the other, what cause had he really given her to be worried? A lot of people fell in love. A lot of relationships, romantic or platonic or anything in between, ended. She didn’t need to be worried about him.

“That’s what this is, right? You moving on?” Mianmian asked, undeterred. “I was always worried something would happen.”

Wei Ying swallowed, unable to bring himself even to nod in response. Yes, that was the reason they were out here tonight, but he realized…

He just felt grimy sitting here talking about this, even pretending that he was trying to move on. He hated that there were people out there now pitying Lan Zhan in ways that Lan Zhan wouldn’t have wanted for no good reason. He hated that what he was doing here might get turned around and weaponized, too. Poor Lan Zhan, did you hear Wei Ying was cruising for dates while he’s high on his widow’s walk, pining away? It wasn’t true, of course, but he didn’t want Lan Zhan to get smeared in this way.

He just wanted to stop thinking entirely for a while.

The bar was a bad idea. He didn’t need to stay in a stuffy booth while they roved predatory eyes over a crowd of singles in the hopes of finding one that might fit Wei Ying’s ever tightening standards. This was never going to work. He knew it. Jiang Cheng knew it even if he tried to pretend doing it this way was better. Wen Qing would have known it if he’d told her the full truth.

Mianmian might have wanted it to be different for his sake, but she’d always been more optimistic than the rest of them.

At least he’d found this out before someone managed to convince him to try chatting someone up. So far, all it could look like to anyone else was a few friends getting together for drinks. Nothing unseemly.

If Wei Ying just never dated at all ever to protect Lan Zhan’s reputation, that was okay with him. Yep. Wasn’t like he was terribly interested in doing so before. Until Lan Zhan found someone he wanted to date properly at least. Maybe on that day he could give it a real shot again, but not now, not when any move Wei Ying took would embarrass Lan Zhan further.

“Let’s go to the club next door,” Wei Ying said suddenly, slapping a few bills on the table. “I want to dance. This sitting around in the dark shit is getting to me. Mianmian, you’ll dance, right?”

She squinted at him and then looked at Wen Qing, then Jiang Cheng. They both nodded at her, though they seemed a little reluctant to do so, and gathered their things, Jiang Cheng carrying Wen Qing’s and Mianmian’s jackets and bags, because deep down inside he was a gentleman, even going so far as to pay the cover for all of them, even Wei Ying, without complaint.

Wei Ying had only been to this club once, but he was surprised and disappointed to find that the music was different than the one time he’d been there. It was danceable, he supposed, but in a far more intimate way than he expected. Bodies writhed on the dance floor, slow and sensual. The lights pulsed low in warm reds and purples and swept across gleaming, sweat-sheened skin.

He thought he recognized the music, but when he searched the stage in the back, it wasn’t Meng Yao performing, but someone else. Another artist then, but similar enough that Wei Ying’s gorge rose and he felt hemmed in by memories. And even so, he thought it was beautiful, knew that Lan Zhan would also agree, wished that it was Lan Zhan who was pulling him onto the dance floor. “Hey, stop thinking for five minutes, huh?” Mianmian was saying, grabbing hold of his hips and tugging him close. “Let’s get that head of yours clear. Then we’ll work on the rest, all right?”

Wei Ying turned to look toward Wen Qing and Jiang Cheng, who remained at the edge of the dance floor. “Don’t you want to be with Wen-jie?”

“Always,” she said, warm and soft, “but I will be soon. And anyway, look again.”

This time when he found them, they were stepping out, too, Wen Qing leading him, no-nonsense, to another part of the room. Jiang Cheng was awkward and tense as he was dragged along, almost fighting Wen Qing, but still winding up with her arms around him as they settled into place.

“We keep hoping he’ll figure it out,” she said, eyes crinkling at the corner.

“Figure out what?”

Mianmian blinked and then smiled, eyes crinkling with fondness. “That we like him, too, even if he can be a prickly asshole sometimes.”

Fondness swelled inside of Wei Ying at Mianmian’s admission, warmth and happiness for Jiang Cheng filling the empty spaces inside of him. He moved against Mianmian by rote, too focused on watching Jiang Cheng finally relax to pay much attention to what he was doing. “Maybe he’ll figure it out soon?”

“If he doesn’t,” Mianmian said, placing her hand lightly against Wei Ying’s cheek to bring his attention back to her, “then you’re more than welcome to tell him what I’ve told you.”

“I think Wen-jie might beat me to the punch.”

“Good. I hope she does. I hope he listens to her.”

Wei Ying realized he was the last person on the planet who should have been asking this question given his own circumstances, but he did it anyway. “Why don’t you tell him?”

“The way I’m sure you’ve been entirely honest with Lan Zhan?” She looked at him, searching his face, gentling her assessment of him with a smile. Out of everyone, she’d never judge him for his failures or his follies; if he said right now that he did truly want to find someone, she’d help him as best she could even if everyone else told him he was stupid. It was refreshing to have one person in his life who chose to take him at his word. As much as he needed Wen Qing and Jiang Cheng to tell him when he was being stupid, it was nice to have Mianmian’s friendship, too. “What makes you think I haven’t tried?”

Wei Ying opened his mouth to argue, but he realized he had no reason to believe she hadn’t. She wasn’t the same brand of messed up that Wei Ying was. It was entirely plausible she would have tried. And Jiang Cheng could have misconstrued it entirely. “I… just assumed, I guess.”

“Did I mention the part where your brother’s a prickly asshole?”

Wei Ying laughed and nodded. “He’ll come around, I think.”

After that, the talking subsided. Wei Ying didn’t often just get to be silent with people, often didn’t want to, but he wanted to be quiet now and so he did and Mianmian allowed that.

He had to admit, Mianmian was very good and it felt nice now to touch someone where there could be no confusion or worries about misunderstandings. Mianmian was warm and sweet and she smelled good and her hands were soft against his shoulders, his back, her torso a solid presence against him, but it was the touch of a friend and he felt nothing except gratitude for the steadiness of it as he pressed his forehead to her shoulder, letting the slow, steady beat of her pulse twine sinuously with the slow, steady beat of the music.

They stayed that way for a long while, until Wei Ying finally lifted his head and hooked his chin awkwardly over her shoulder, his upper body a little hunched because he was so much taller than her, but he didn’t mind and she didn’t seem to mind either.

It was great for so long that he forgot it was still possible for his world to fall apart around him over the most innocuous changes in his surroundings.

All it took, in this case, was a flash of white in the corner of his gaze. White. That was all. Even seeing only that much, the cuff of a dress shirt, incongruous here, made him tense up. And then his eyes drifted up and up until he was looking directly into Lan Zhan’s eyes. His hand was wrapped around a plastic cup which, though it didn’t fall from his hands, did end up sloshing liquid over his knuckles and the floor.

Wei Ying pushed at Mianmian’s shoulders, cold all over suddenly. Instinctively, he rushed over to where Lan Zhan was—or had been. He was already moving toward the exit, abandoning the cup at the door, and even though Wei Ying shouted, he made no move to stop as he crossed the street to reach the parking lot on the other side. He was already almost to his car by the time Wei Ying caught up with him, his determination to get away and long-legged stride counting for a lot. The chill of the wind kept Wei Ying alert, stopped his head from swimming from the sudden change from languid calm to fearful anxiety, from the close, sticky warmth of the club to the crisp night air. He couldn’t let Lan Zhan misconstrue this.

What was Lan Zhan even doing here? Why did he have to be here?

How could he still be so beautiful when he looked so miserable and alone?

How could Wei Ying ever believe he’d get over him?

“Lan Zhan, stop!” Wei Ying said, voice shaking with despair and shame. Sure, his idea had been stupid, but what he was doing wasn’t wrong, going out with his friends wasn’t wrong, and it somehow… it kept hurting Lan Zhan anyway. When he grabbed Lan Zhan’s wrist, Lan Zhan tried to break the hold, but Wei Ying was ready and wrenched him back. “Just—stop for five seconds, please.”

“No need,” Lan Zhan said, curt. “Let me go.”

“Lan Zhan. I’m trying to apologize.”

“No need.” His voice was fierce, wretched, and Mianmian’s words swirled in his head. Except for how impossible they were, they would have explained this. He was too dignified to drag Wei Ying the rest of the way to his car, but Wei Ying wasn’t certain he didn’t want to do just that. So he gave Lan Zhan at least that much grace, pulling Lan Zhan toward it so that he’d be able to flee as soon as Wei Ying said his piece. But he had to listen first. That was all.

Lord, even just touching Lan Zhan set his whole body ablaze; if Lan Zhan asked him now if he wanted to burn, he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t have said yes. He missed Lan Zhan, needed him, wished he could go back and have been braver for a little while longer when they were together. Lan Zhan would never ask him. And why should he? Who’d want to be saddled with Wei Ying?

“This isn’t what it looks like,” he said.

“It looked like you were dancing with Luo Qingyang. Should I think anything else of it beyond that? I know you and I know you didn’t mean anything by it,” Lan Zhan answered, pointed, just shy of venomous. “Let me go.”

Okay, ouch. That was going to hurt if he let it; he couldn’t let it.

“Fuck, Lan Zhan. I’m sorry, okay? I was a dick to you.” He scuffed his boots across the ground. “I was awful and I don’t know how to fix it and I’m sorry I can’t be what you need—”

Lan Zhan pushed Wei Ying back against the car, door handle jamming hard enough against his ass to send a thrill of pain up his back, but before Wei Ying could finish what he was saying, Lan Zhan was holding his face between his palms, fingers digging into his cheeks and behind his ears, his teeth clacking hard against Wei Ying’s.

He bit at Wei Ying’s lower lip, parted Wei Ying’s teeth with his tongue to stroke into his mouth, suggestive as his legs bracketed Wei Ying’s thigh. He kissed Wei Ying until Wei Ying’s chest felt tight, his knees weak. He kissed Wei Ying like it was the last time he’d ever allow himself to do so and when he pulled away, Wei Ying felt drunk on the sensations, mouth pulsing, ears pounding, body vibrating with needs he couldn’t voice, desires he didn’t dare hope for.

Lan Zhan’s features were cool when Wei Ying lifted his gaze, eyes almost blank except for a minute flair of… something. “You don’t owe me anything,” he said, each word a knife, “not even an explanation.”

“I don’t want your apology,” he said, each knife now in motion.

“Let me go,” he said again, said for the last time, each motion of that knife now a wound blooming hot in Wei Ying’s chest.

When he pushed Wei Ying aside this time, Wei Ying couldn’t fight it and nearly stumbled as his mind tried to wrap itself around what just happened. This wasn’t who Lan Zhan was, not like this, but by the time he turned around, Lan Zhan was already starting the car and though he didn’t think Lan Zhan would swing out while Wei Ying was still there, his hands wrapped tight around the steering wheel, Wei Ying took a step out of the way anyway, nearly tripping as a stray, unexpected rock got underfoot. As soon as he moved, Lan Zhan was as quick and brutally efficient in leaving as he was in everything he did. Nothing remained of him here, not even a stray patch of oil where his car had been parked because he, unlike Wei Ying, unlike anyone Wei Ying knew, actually cared about regular car maintenance.

Tasting blood, he scrubbed his hand across his lips, mouth and jaw aching. The pain in his chest didn’t recede in the slightest; pressure built and squeezed at him until he stumbled back and sat on the curb, crossing his arms over his knees, swollen mouth muffled by his wrists as he breathed through the worst of it.

So much for only letting it hurt if he let it.

The last thing Wei Ying wanted to do was return to Lan Zhan’s apartment after last night, but he knew in his heart that he couldn’t leave it like this, couldn’t just keep running every time he had a feeling he didn’t like. In this small way, he could stand his ground and try to honor Lan Zhan’s desire for him to finish the work and let him go. Whether it was what he still wanted after last night, Wei Ying couldn’t say, but devoid of the actual words, he was going to assume that original request was still in play, otherwise he wasn’t certain he’d be able to do it at all.

When he stepped through Lan Zhan’s door this morning, the paintings he’d left days ago were still sitting against the wall, boxed up, like Lan Zhan didn’t know what to do with them and couldn’t bring himself to look at them. The can of paint was still there, too, and the urge to just throw it onto the walls was so strong he had to clench his hands into fists to keep from grabbing it and doing just that.

Normally, he wouldn’t be here quite this early, didn’t dare risk interrupting Lan Zhan’s morning, but he wanted as many hours of the day to devote to this as he could possibly get. The sooner he was done, the better. The sooner he could stop inadvertently hurting Lan Zhan by his mere existence, the better.

So. There was still half left. If he worked through the day, he could maybe get the first layers of paint down on the rest. Then, one more day to refine and do the detail work. All those years of working quick were finally being put to good use.

He’d have liked the chance to let it sit and come back and look for errors that would need fixing, but he didn’t think he’d get that opportunity, so he did everything he could while he was there, taking pictures to see if he’d notice anything from flipping those, anything he could think of to ensure he wasn’t sacrificing quality.

There wasn’t a lot else he could take pride in, but he could try to take pride in this much: he was good at what he did.

He worked late, later than he normally did, late enough that the sun was growing the orange and red of sunset and though his heart pounded in his chest once he realized, he noticed also that Lan Zhan hadn’t come home yet, perhaps staying away on purpose, knowing somehow that he ought to.

But by this time, he couldn’t guarantee that Lan Zhan wouldn’t be home at any moment, so he quickly cleared up his things and put them aside and promised it would only be one more day, then he’d be free of this and Lan Zhan could be as free of him as two walls’ worth of a Wei Ying’s work could allow.

It wasn’t a surprise when he arrived and Lan Zhan was yet again not there, but it still hurt even though he had no right to feel hurt under the circumstances. As he trudged back to the bedroom, stopping only briefly to ensure Turpentine was free to roam. She was still curled up in her hutch, feet kicking out a little as she dreamed, hopefully of something fun enough for the both of them.

More than before, he could feel the toll this piece was taking on him. Even just looking at it exhausted him and there was a twinge in his shoulder that made itself known even before he raised his arm, an unsubtle protest against the treatment he was going to put it through today.

He’d already decided he wouldn’t be leaving until it was done no matter how long it took. He hoped it would go quickly, but even if Lan Zhan arrived, he’d stay.

He did not actively look for this outcome, lived in dread of it, but he couldn’t articulate how little he wanted to spend even one more day on this when yesterday was bad enough.

What he needed, he realized, was to accept that there was no one else in the world for him and that he wouldn’t get to keep the one person he wanted. The ocean might be full of beautiful, charming, wonderful fish, but not a single one of them could compare to his. That brief moment of madness where he imagined a bar or an app could provide him with the closure he required… it was yet another reminder that he really didn’t have a clue.

As such, he perhaps invested these walls with a rather greater sense of purpose than they deserved. If he couldn’t get closure by moving on, he reasoned, he could get closure through this, and perhaps that would be enough to carry him through whatever will come after.

With that thought in mind, he threw everything he knew about healthy work habits out the window for yet another day, glad that nobody at Burial Mounds could see what he was doing and adopt the same tactics.

By the end of it, he was exhausted, sweaty. His back ached every time he moved wrong and he was pretty sure he’d end up with a permanent cramp in his wrist and elbow and shoulder from what he’d done. But it was four o’clock in the afternoon and Lan Zhan wasn’t home yet and it was done.

It was done and even to eyes that were so fatigued that they were in turns dry and gritty and then gummy and watering, it was…

It really was something else.

Whatever zone he’d wound up in, it must have been like some sort of spell, because he didn’t recognize a single brush stroke as his own. Each one was elegant and deft, beautiful and perfectly balanced. The stupid cranes he’d liked so much were perfectly balanced, a delicate repeating motif across the thing. The hints of gold offered just enough interest to draw the eye and ha, thinking about it that way wasn’t so different from imagining the gold of Lan Zhan’s eyes drawing attention wherever he went, a metaphor he didn’t want to consider too closely.

He might have been proud of it under different circumstances.

“Ah, Lan Zhan.” Pure fondness spread through him, the ache of an old wound reacting to a change in barometric pressure. Even knowing how little Lan Zhan thought of him right now, he couldn’t quite stomp out the soft flutter of affection inside of him. “If you won’t get rid of this, I hope it’s is enough to make up a little for what I’ve put you through.”

He gathered the box of paints, rolled up the tarp he’d put down, did one last check because it wasn’t enough to do this, he had to do it out of order, and brought everything out to the living room, careful to ensure the door was shut.

He was going to leave, when he couldn’t help but turn back to take one last look at Turpentine’s hutch.

She wasn’t there as far as he could see, but when he looked down at his feet, a small, golden ball of fluff was sitting there, half balanced on the toe of his boot, nose twitching and whiskers shivering delicately.

“Tiny,” he said, crouching and holding his hands out for her to hop into so he could cradle her to his chest securely. “You’re gonna have to take good care of your dad for a little while. Make him give you good treats, too, okay?”

She nestled closer to him, which he chose to take as confirmation that she would.

“I’m going to figure out how to fix this,” he told her. “It might not be the same as before, but…”

Though he’d intended to slip away quickly, it took him a good twenty minutes of Turpentine napping in his arms before he could tear himself away and abandon his key on the table before letting himself out of Lan Zhan’s apartment for the last time.

He did not want to acknowledge the thickness in the back of his throat, nor the way his eyes watered slightly at doing so.

Time to make good on that visit to jiejie’s.

One day, a train trip, and a terrifying drive through Qingdao traffic with Jin Ling at the him later, Wei Ying arrived in the small driveway set behind the gate of the much too fancy house that was somehow still not good enough for his jiejie—it could have been gold-plated and it still wouldn’t have been enough. She was out front tending to a small patch of flowers in her tiny, pretty, perfectly put together yard. Even before Wei Ying was out of the car, her features were split into a radiant grin and she was rushing over to him to squeeze him in the tightest hug he’d had from her in a long time.

“A-Ying!” She held him out at arm’s length. “You look like you’ve lost weight.”

“Ach. How can I lose weight? I’m eating the same as I always do. It hasn’t even been that long since I’ve seen you. Who has time to lose weight that quickly?”

Jiejie leveled him with a glare that told him she didn’t believe him in the slightest. Admittedly, he was maybe stretching the truth a lot, but he didn’t want to worry her unnecessarily when he knew for a fact just asking to come here was enough of a red flag for her. He did his best to give her one of his usual sunny smiles and it wasn’t as hard to muster as he expected and not just for her sake.

“A-Ling, why don’t you take your uncle’s things in for him?” she suggested sweetly. “I’d like him to help me with the gardening.”

“Ah ha, jiejie. You know I’m bad at it.”

“That’s okay. You can just keep me company if you want. Or dig some holes. You used to be good at that.” Her eyes sparkled. Though she was already the most beautiful woman in Wei Ying’s opinion, she was even more radiant now, even though she was holding out a small shovel to him, which he took and immediately began shoving into the patch of dirt she was working on.

“Madam Yu did often want to put holes in me for messing around in her yard,” he replied, fond now that all the yelling and punishments were entirely in the past. “I guess I can help.”

Though he was tired and grimy from the trip, it was nice to sit with jiejie while she tended to the flowers. Even with the afternoon sun beating down on his neck, it was nice. “You’re wearing sunscreen, aren’t you?” he asked her, seeing the way her hair was swept up from the back of her neck. It wasn’t red yet, but who knew how long ago she’d applied any if she’d applied it at all. She, not unlike Wei Ying, sometimes got so caught up in the things she loved. She was never as bad about it as Wei Ying was—or even Jiang Cheng on occasion—but he could see her forgetting this.

She rolled her eyes slightly, fond. “Yes, A-Ying.” She pointed at a big, floppy bag sitting in the grass nearby. “If you need some, it’s there.”

He absolutely didn’t think he needed it, but he wanted to slap jiejie with some just in case, so he pretended, spraying a bit into his palms and swiping it over his face, neck, and arms. He then did the same to the back of her neck, resulting in a shriek as cold sunscreen hit warm skin. She twisted around even more quickly than he expected and ripped off her glove, slapping at his knee with the dirt-covered thing.

He giggled and stumbled away. It felt good to play with her like this. They didn’t have many opportunities even when they were younger. Jiejie thought she needed to behave like she was older than she truly was and Wei Ying spent so much time roughhousing with Jiang Cheng or actually fighting with him that jiejie was left on the outside of.

Not that he wanted to roughhouse with or fight jiejie.

He just… liked connecting with her. Finding ways to be with her.

“Sorry, sorry. I couldn’t resist,” he said. “Let me rub it in before it soaks into your collar.” He did her one better, digging his thumbs into her spine and down her neck, trying to ease the tension he found there. “Jiejie, you work too hard. Does your peacock husband never help you? He barely has to draw anything and he makes a mint off of it. He should spend more time with you.”

“A-Ying,” she said, not quite admonishing.

“You should go get a massage while I’m here,” he insisted. “You’re too tense. What are you doing being so tense like this? Isn’t that Jiang Cheng’s job?”

Though she made a noise of protest, she settled down when he dug into a particularly nasty knot in her shoulder.

“Are you okay, jiejie?”

“You’re the one who should be answering that question,” she said. “This is the first time in two years you’ve been out here and it happened so suddenly. Weren’t you working on something for Lan Zhan? What made you come here now?”

“Ah, jiejie is too smart for me,” Wei Ying said with a sad, whining tone. It was easier to make the admission this way, when he was pretending to be a pathetic child rather than, you know, actually being one. Which he was. Absolutely. An adult wouldn’t have had to skip town to clear his head. An adult might have been able to apologize properly and move on.

“Is it Lan Zhan?” she asked, too kind for Wei Ying. She was, he thought, always too kind. Her words were gentle, like she knew how fraught her question was, how deeply she was truly prying. Unlike with Wen Qing or Mo Xuanyu, unlike with anyone else in his life, he wanted to tell her everything.

His eyes stung with the suppressed grief and confusion in his heart. It was almost too much for him to bear. Sniffing, drawing in a deep breath, he managed to control himself. If his voice was a little hoarse, he was just relieved that he could say anything at all. “I messed up.”

“Oh, A-Ying. It’s Lan Zhan. How can you mess up?”

He fiddled with his hands, hating that he couldn’t even say the words where it was safest to admit them. Even when his sister gripped his hands, compassion in her gaze, he couldn’t give the admission to her. How was he supposed to fix this with Lan Zhan if he couldn’t even…?

“Jiejie, can I tell you something and you’ll promise never to say anything to anyone else? Not even Jiang Cheng?” He searched her face, but all that he received back was openness and kindness, welcoming patience. “I shouldn’t even say it, but…”

“Lan Zhan is a very private person, but if it concerns you, you have a right to talk about it, too,” she said, hesitant. “I will of course keep his and your confidences. Whatever you have to tell me, I’m willing to hear. I won’t say anything or behave any differently toward him if I see him again.”

It was a testament to her grace and perfect bearing that she didn’t even imagine the possibility that she might need to behave differently toward him. There was nothing in her mind that would shift her opinion. That was what finally allowed him to speak. She would not judge. Even if he was hurting, she would not automatically decide to make things harder on Lan Zhan on his behalf.

“I… like Lan Zhan,” he started. That was simultaneously the easiest and hardest thing to say. Easy because it was obvious and hard because each syllable made him feel more vulnerable. “I like him a lot.”

She did not push him for more, though he was certain she could have easily told him that she knew this already. He could not hide from her. “I’m happy for you, A-Ying,” she said finally while Wei Ying continued to gather his thoughts. She scrubbed her hand through his hair. “Even though it’s causing you distress now. It’s not a bad thing to care about him. You’ve known one another so long. It was obvious enough when you brought him to meet me, hmm?”

“I know.” His throat clicked, parched as he tried to swallow around the dryness. “I thought… it was easier before when I thought it was impossible to be with him. It was enough to spend time with him, knowing that there couldn’t be anything else for us. I spent more time with him than anyone else he knows except maybe his brother. I know more about him, too, than anyone else. That was fine. I was happy.”

He couldn’t speak again. If he was being honest, he could be happy again if only they could go back to those easier times. They could never touch one another again and it would be fine if only he could be at ease in Lan Zhan’s life, not so subtly sneaking treats to Turpentine and painting the view from his balcony, sitting quietly or not so quietly on his couch while Lan Zhan puttered around in his kitchen, leaving behind those spaces for Lan Zhan alone that he asked for. All he’d ever asked of Wei Ying was for his Wednesdays to be his own, but even that small concession was ultimately too much; Wei Ying could not give it. But now he knew things he couldn’t unlearn; he could never be happy, taking things from Lan Zhan that he’d never agreed to give up to Wei Ying. He should have accepted his role in Lan Zhan’s life for the gift it already was, just as it was.

“Maybe that doesn’t make sense to you, but it’s true. It was enough. I found out that it wasn’t impossible to be with him and I… I thought I could be okay being… I should have been okay with it and kept what we had.” Ah, god. This was so stupid. It sounded stupid. How did he explain the rumor? Why he knew Lan Zhan wouldn’t be interested in more? “He isn’t interested in dating, I don’t think. Not long-term anyway. Dates, sure. But dating? I don’t think so.”

“You don’t think? Have you asked him?”

“I never had a chance,” Wei Ying said, when really he meant: he was too afraid to ask, to impose. “I… I had a lot of chances actually. I messed up, remember?”

“So you said,” she replied, “but I don’t see how.”

“We… I asked him out. It was…” He didn’t even know how to explain how good it was. “It was perfect.”

“This was around when you invited him to dinner with us?”

Wei Ying nodded because it was easier than saying the words out loud. Lan Zhan was so good, it hurt. If Wei Ying hadn’t wanted so much more, it could still be good. But no. Wei Ying needed too much and he’d tried to drag Lan Zhan into it, too.

“I don’t know him well,” she said, thoughtful. “But he seemed to enjoy himself when he was with us. What could have changed?”

“It wasn’t him. As I said, it’s…” He thought about the way Lan Zhan had offered him his mother’s things and how Lan Zhan had been so gentle with him and how he wanted so much more than to, to fuck Lan Zhan sometimes, to inconvenience Lan Zhan with the width and breadth of his desires.

He’d have taken everything from Lan Zhan if given the chance.

What use did Lan Zhan have for such a leech? They’d known each other for years now and Lan Zhan had never been in another relationship, relegated his needs to a legendary spreadsheet that probably didn’t even actually exist, parsed his own sexuality out to himself on Wednesdays because it was convenient or because that was the best thing for him. If he didn’t prefer it that way, wouldn’t he have done something about it sooner? With someone? Anyone? Wouldn’t Wei Ying have known?

“You know,” jiejie said, more serious than usual, “I used to think I was expecting too much of A-Xuan before we…” Jiejie swallowed and looked down at her hands. She rarely spoke about the rocky courtship between herself and her husband and Wei Ying generally thought it was for the best to keep it that way. Every time he thought about how Jin Zixuan had treated her, he still got angry about it, even though he’d proved himself in other ways since then. If she was bringing it up now, it was important. “I thought if I settled for what I could get of him, then it would be okay and it would work itself out the way it was meant to.”

Yeah, he knew that, and he knew the toll it had taken on her. She stayed away, pretended a coolness she would never in a million years actually be able to feel. For a while, it worked. He would approach her and then dance away like an easily startled insect.

“But A-Ying, it wasn’t until I told him how I felt about him and what trying to feel some other way did to me that we were able to understand one another.”

It still hadn’t been easy after that, but they’d—they’d managed to figure it out.

“Jiejie…”

“By not telling him, you’re not giving him a chance to understand you. Is that not a little unfair to him?”

Wei Ying didn’t want to think about what was unfair and what wasn’t, but he knew the truth. “It was unfair to start anything. What we had should have been enough and I ruined it.”

“A-Ying, you’re allowed to pursue your feelings for another person. I know you don’t—that it’s rare for you to have those sorts of feelings and that probably makes it harder, but… but this is Lan Zhan, right? He’s a good man. You wouldn’t have taken a risk on him if he wasn’t.”

Wei Ying laughed, disgusted with himself. “I thought if I fucked him, I could get him out of my system and then go happily on my way. What kind of risk is that? How could I be worthy of him when I thought that?” He shouldn’t have used such vulgar language with his own sister, he felt, but he couldn’t justify it as anything more than that. He knew now what it was in truth, but back then—it felt like ages now, a whole different lifetime—back then it had been vulgar and beneath him. “I was so stupid.”

But she merely smiled at him and ruffled his hair again. “Love is kind of stupid.”

“I can’t be in love with him.”

“Why not?”

“Because why would he want that? He has no reason to want it. I’m just—”

“You’re Wei Ying. You’re not just anything. And I think even if Lan Zhan doesn’t feel the same way, he knows that, too. He wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself this way on his account.” She bit her lip and looked away again. “I don’t want to give you false expectations, but I’ve seen how you were before him and with him and now after him. And I saw how he was with you. He looked so content with you by his side. You might have less to worry about than you think.”

“But—”

“You said you messed up. That means there’s something you have to fix. You’re going to fix it, right? Give him an apology, at least? Give him the truth?”

He could see the way that he would end up disappointing his very own jiejie if he didn’t and he couldn’t stand the thought of it, but he equally didn’t know how to broach this with Lan Zhan, go back and explain it all. It seemed as impossible as watching the sun rise in the west.

“I’ll try,” he agreed, feeling like every sort of shit that he couldn’t just get it over with, that he had to go through this whole circus just to get around to doing the right thing. He’d been so cavalier early on. Why couldn’t he find that boldness now? “But in the meantime, I’m going to enjoy spending this time with my dear jiejie. How does that sound?”

“That sounds very good to me, A-Ying.”

It was good for Wei Ying, too, to be here. He helped jiejie cook—or maybe he interfered a lot and didn’t do much of the cooking, but he was with her and that was what mattered—and he drove Jin Ling to school so jiejie could have a break and he carefully avoided being rude to the peacock and found himself surprised, in turn, to hear the peacock be nice to him in turn, talking about the local art scene in ways that Wei Ying found, against his own inclinations, interesting.

He devoted the week to his jiejie and Jin Ling, sketching whatever he wanted, painting dumb little scraps of paper with crappy watercolors or markers or whatever he could find, silly cartoons that Jin Ling rolled his eyes at and then tucked away. Jin Zixuan showed him around some of Qingdao’s galleries and actually spoke intelligently for once on topics of mutual interest and even that was nice.

Wei Ying didn’t know that Jin Zixuan knew anything about art, but apparently he did these days. Wild.

If he got too scared to talk to Lan Zhan, maybe he could just uproot Burial Mounds and bring them all here with him. Qingdao really wasn’t so bad.

Ah, what a dream that was. He could pester jiejie whenever he wanted and embarrass Jin Ling and not have to make a fool out of himself every time he saw Lan Zhan. He’d never find a dealer as good as him, but sacrifices had to be made, right?

No, no, of course they couldn’t. Even if Lan Zhan hated him, he wouldn’t leave, not unless Lan Zhan told him to get out of town, which… he wouldn't do that.

And anyway, by the end of the week, he was itching to get back. Mo Xuanyu and Wen Qing kept him up-to-date on the various shenanigans going on and his heart clamored to be back there, torn also with the desire to stay here with his head in the sand.

But it couldn’t be. Jiejie had her life here and he had his life there and there were things he still needed to do so he wouldn’t have any regrets. Any more regrets anyway. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do about the ones he’d already accumulated. As he packed his bags, not at all misty eyed, he prepared himself to say goodbye. He was just glad Jin Ling was already at school. It was embarrassing enough to brush away the slightest hint of tears already, but in front of a teenager? No way.

Jiejie called to him from the hallway outside of the guest room, poking her head in just as he turned around. “A-Ying, are you ready to go?”

He shoved the last of his freshly laundered clothing into his bag and zipped it up. “If I have to be,” he said, cheerful, hoping that cheer would be more than just the sound of his voice. “Thank you for all of this.”

“You’re welcome to come as often as you’d like. I think Jin Ling likes having you around even if he pretends otherwise and I know I do. Even A-Xuan seemed to enjoy himself. Maybe next time you’ll bring A-Cheng with you.”

Wei Ying ducked his head and nodded. “I won’t let it be so long until I come back next time.”

Even though he’d had a whole week to talk himself out of it, he was still determined to see his promise to jiejie through to the end: next time he saw Lan Zhan, he was going to tell him the truth. He was going to go home, work out an apology worthy of Lan Zhan, and he was going to spill it all. Maybe he could dream, just a little bit, that he’d be able to bring him to jiejie’s, too, the next time he came.

Even after only a week away, it was odd to be back at home; he felt as though he was seeing the place from an entirely new perspective. As he left the train station, he wandered around a bit, crossing the street outside and ducking into the park nearby. It was different from Qingdao here and Wei Ying felt he preferred it that way. As much as he liked the idea of cities, any big city, even one that didn’t come close to Shanghai and Guangzhou or Chongqing in terms of size and population, threatened to overwhelm him when he thought too hard about them. As much as he might say he’ll uproot Burial Mounds and bring it to Qingdao, he wouldn’t really do so. Not even if Lan Zhan gave him the boot.

Here was good. He got by and he knew the people and it was large enough without being overwhelming. He had a place here, as uncomfortable as it could sometimes be, and he liked that feeling of belonging, that feeling that he helped make up the fabric of a place and could make it better.

Maybe that was stupid and romantic and giving himself entirely too much credit; if only Jiang Cheng had picked him up and seen fit to pop the inflation going on in his head. The fabric of the community. Good lord.

Stretching after the long train ride, he sighed and hiked his bag higher onto his back. At this time of day there wasn’t a whole lot going on, too early to be off work and have gotten the kids, too late for anyone wanting a morning stroll.

He was supremely lucky that he got to make his own hours, do what he wanted when he wanted. Within reason, of course, but…

But.

But he wasn’t really paying attention to where he was going on the path through the park, too busy staring at the lily pads that dotted the surface of the lake around which the path curved and the little fish that darted through the water, close enough to the surface to see as their little heads and bodies skimmed past.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of white, forcing his thoughts immediately back to the club, and then he was hearing his name in a voice he wasn’t sure he was ready to hear, but longed for all the same.

Shit, already? Already he was supposed to make good on his promise?

“Lan Zhan,” he called back, waving, seeing him on the other side of a bridge he hadn’t yet crossed, pretending that the elephants turning somersaults in his stomach would go away as long as he told himself he was okay. He approached cautiously from across the bridge he’d been lingering near and looked his fill, trying to guess Lan Zhan’s mood. Though Wei Ying might have intended to confess, he couldn’t forget the way he’d left things with Lan Zhan.

Let me go, he’d told Wei Ying.

No apologies, he’d told Wei Ying.

Though he smiled as brightly as he could, Lan Zhan could only look back at him with an indifferent, shuttered expression on his face. The smile fell from his mouth and that only seemed to make Lan Zhan close off further.

You called to me, he didn’t wail. I’m trying. He didn’t wince, but it was hard not to spit out a lot of meaningless words, worthless apologies because he didn’t have anything yet to show for them. He was so damned sorry, but the word alone wasn’t enough.

He’d thought he’d have at least a few days to compose himself before running into Lan Zhan, before proving good to his word, but apparently the universe was a cruel place and wanted him thrown into Lan Zhan’s path before he was prepared.

So be it. He could be impulsive.

Lan Zhan lifted his hand, but before it got very far, he was already letting it fall again to his side, clenching once before relaxing again.

“You look well,” he said finally, so painfully neutral that Wei Ying couldn’t help but feel he was being scolded, except that didn’t seem entirely correct either. “My brother mentioned you’ve been away. How was your trip?”

“Lan Huan knew?”

Lan Zhan averted his gaze. “I believe he ran into Wen Qing during a sale and she told him a little about it.”

Wei Ying’s heart pounded furiously against his chest. Not even because Wen Qing had said anything—it wasn’t secret knowledge or anything and Wen Qing would have been discreet about it anyway, not giving away anything he wouldn’t have wanted anyone to know—but just at the thought that Wen Qing and Lan Huan talked about him and, even worse, Lan Huan and Lan Zhan talked about him. It didn’t sit right.

What sort of conversation did they have where Wei Ying’s whereabouts served as a reasonable topic? Did Lan Zhan rightly figure out why he’d left town? He was a smart man after all. It wouldn’t be so hard to come to the right conclusion.

Crap. This was not ideal.

Then again, this was what he was trying to confess, wasn’t it? Maybe it was the best he could get.

His throat dried at the thought.

The less he said about this, he felt, the better, so he didn’t explain. It was only a distraction. “I went to see jiejie. It was good.”

Maybe he should have stayed later, taken a train that would ensure he got back after Lan Zhan would be asleep.

“How is she?” Lan Zhan asked, his voice strained.

“She’s well.” And fuck, he felt even worse now, like he was stonewalling Lan Zhan to make some kind of point, but he wasn’t truly. He just—he was afraid of what might spill from his mouth, what unconsidered nonsense might find its way out from between his teeth if he gave voice to even a few of the words cluttering his head. “How… how are you, Lan Zhan? Are you well?”

“Mn.”

And that was great. Not only was Wei Ying stonewalling, so was Lan Zhan, and Wei Ying was the one left flailing. This wasn’t fair or right. Even when Lan Zhan started walking, gesturing subtly that Wei Ying should come with him, he couldn’t help but trail after him, a sad, stricken puppy.

“Wei Ying, I…” he said, quiet, barely audible even over the sound of the wind in the trees, the birdsong filtering through his senses like a candle’s flame, flickering and uneven, yet warm, too. As Wei Ying waited, his heart climbed his throat and settled there, like a rock, cutting off his air, stretching his throat until it felt ragged. There was pity in Lan Zhan’s gaze when he looked at Wei Ying. Stopping and turning, he held his hand out to stop Wei Ying as well. “The mural is beautiful. I thought you should know.”

“Oh, um…” Scuffing his boots over the dirt path, he fought the warmth that threatened to flood his cheeks at the compliment. “I’m glad.” He couldn’t stand it any longer. This couldn’t… it was unfair to both of them. Fix this, jiejie had said. Tell the truth. “Lan Zhan, there’s something I need to tell you.”

“Wei Ying?” And that pity turned into something else. Relief maybe? It looked like relief. And why wouldn’t Lan Zhan be relieved? Wei Ying was going to fix this. He knew exactly how he would fix this. He could be an adult. He could explain what he needed and what he couldn’t—

No words came to him at first. By the time he found any—Lan Zhan, I like you—cowardice stole the entirety of his well-meaning admission from him. Sorry, jiejie, he thought, better luck next try. Deep breath. Definitely next try. And then he was saying in a rush, just as Lan Zhan was opening his mouth, “But I need to know first—”

“What did I do wro—?”

“—if we can still be friends?” The words were out before he could stop himself and hear what Lan Zhan was saying. He blinked. Lan Zhan didn’t interrupt ever and it took his mind a moment to catch up. “Lan Zhan?”

Lan Zhan flinched and brushed his hands down his sides, tugging at the hem of his sweater. “Nothing. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—you were saying?”

“I’m saying…” He shook his head, hearing what Lan Zhan meant, mentally rewinding the conversation. “Lan Zhan, you didn’t do anything wrong. You’re perfect. Everything about you is perfect. How can you do anything wrong? Look, you don’t have to worry about me bothering you if… I—I wouldn’t do that to you. I just… want to make sure we’re friends. Before I say it.”

Lan Zhan tensed up even more. Was even the thought of that too much for him? “Friends?”

“Yes?” What else could I possibly hope for?

“I…” Lan Zhan’s face went through a complicated series of expressions and then he looked at Wei Ying and there, that was definitely regret in his eyes, guilt, the very thing Wei Ying had wanted to avoid. “I don’t want that.”

Wei Ying opened his mouth, closed it again. “Oh.” In all actuality, to the very depths of his being, he hadn’t actually expected this to be a possibility. Not in any of his worst imaginings had he thought… he’d believed, at worst, that his feelings would be a burden to Lan Zhan, that he’d suffer the awkwardness of them until he realized Wei Ying could handle it and they’d find some semblance of normalcy. He might have told himself that this was what he would one day reap, but he’d never believed it before this moment.

But how could he say what needed to be said when even this was beyond his reach?

He laughed because if he didn’t, he’d be making himself an even bigger fool here and now. “Right. I mean, sure. That’s… yeah! I can…” He took one backward step. “I did say I wouldn’t bother you, didn’t I? I can—I can do that!” He smiled, because if he didn’t, he’d be back to laughing, such close kin to crying that Wei Ying couldn’t trust it. “I’ll be the best ex-friend you ever had, Lan Zhan. You won’t even know I’m here.” God, what were these words that kept falling from his mouth and why wouldn’t they stop? Did he have to be this pathetic at this moment? “Thank you for being there for me for as long as you were. I’m just going to go. Now. I should—go.”

He got a handful of steps before Lan Zhan tried to follow him and he couldn’t take his eyes off of Lan Zhan’s face, but he knew that he didn’t know what he would do if Lan Zhan actually caught up to him. “Wei Ying?”

It felt cheap to throw Lan Zhan’s words back in his face, but they were eloquent and concise and might get Wei Ying out of here with a single scrap of his dignity intact. “Let me go, Lan Zhan.”

Just as Wei Ying had hoped and feared, it stopped Lan Zhan in his tracks.

Well, uh. That was that, huh?

He was sitting before a blank canvas when Mo Xuanyu found him, chin perched on his hand, one knee hiked up on the highest rung of the stool. Now that it was done, it was a little bit easier to settle and he turned to look at him, a placid smile on his mouth that must have been more frightening than the emotion Mo Xuanyu was expecting him to show if his wariness was any indication. Good thing for everyone he wasn’t feeling anything in particular right now. When the worst had already happened, what else was there to worry about? “Hey,” he said. “How much do you think I’d get if I sent over a blank canvas to Lan Huan? I could just get some white paint and go to fucking town on it? Think someone would go for it?”

“It worked for Rauschenberg, I guess,” Mo Xuanyu said, dubious. “Definitely worked for Ryman.”

“I could call it ‘The Despair of the Artist in the Aftermath of Romantic Failure.’”

Still hesitating, Mo Xuanyu said, “Please don’t. You’ll never make it to Christie’s with a shitty title like that.”

“It’s a meditation on the nature of heartbreak,” Wei Ying continued, because it was easier to joke about this than let himself think it through to the inevitable conclusion.

“Are we really doing this right now?”

Wei Ying straightened up. “No. I just have no fucking clue what I’m doing for this painting. What’s up?”

Mo Xuanyu grimaced. “I’ve never in my life wished Wen Qing wasn’t shacking up at Mianmian’s right now more in my life. You’ve been up here for six hours without moving. I thought you might want to eat at some point. Stop looking at me like that. It’s giving me the creeps. I didn’t go out of my way or anything, but there’s some food downstairs.” He fidgeted his hands and couldn’t meet Wei Ying’s eyes. “I, uh, take it the trip to your sister’s wasn’t the resounding success you were hoping for?”

“I ran into Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said, succumbing to the inevitable, “right when I came back.”

“No gloriously sexy make-out session to affirm your feelings for him, then?”

Wei Ying snorted. Hell, why not just spill everything? Someone should know what Wei Ying was feeling, right? “I was going to tell him.”

“And?”

“I couldn’t tell him. When I tried to ask him if we could even be friends, he said no.”

“The fuck? Seriously?”

Wei Ying nodded primly. “Mmhmm.”

“Not what I expected, but okay.” Mo Xuanyu inhaled through his nose, crossed the studio floor in far fewer steps than should have been possible, and grabbed Wei Ying by the shoulders. “I’m going to be really, really honest right now, okay? No bullshit. Sometimes people just aren’t compatible. No amount of agonizing over it is going to change that. Feel your feeling if you have to and do it as quickly as you can and then get the fuck over it. You’ll be happier in the long run. Paint the entire Burial Mounds white and call it Your Heart, Vivisected or something even more stupidly pretentious if you need to, but it’s easier to hurt now while it’s sharp. Don’t let it fester. Don’t drink it away and don’t—” He flicked Wei Ying between the eyes. “—don’t pull this pod person bullshit like you’re doing right now. I know it looks really cool, grown up, and responsible and you probably feel like you’ve taken the high road letting yourself be this numb about it, but you’re gonna crash and burn.”

Crashing and burning didn’t seem so bad.

“What would you do?” Wei Ying asked. “If you were in my position?”

“Oh, I’d one-hundred percent get blackout drunk and probably embarrass myself over it publicly until the cops were called,” Mo Xuanyu said cheerfully, “but you’re not going to do that. If you really want to stick it to the man, I’ve got some white house paint you can sucker your snobby fans with. That should be good for a laugh at least. Just give me an hour and then come out back. I’ll show you what you’re going to do instead.”

Wei Ying did as Mo Xuanyu asked and almost immediately ascended.

“Where did you get an ink sketch of Lan Zhan’s face on such short notice?” Wei Ying asked, baffled and delighted in turns by how stodgy it was, a little over half a meter tall, plastered as it was to a shitty archery target he hadn’t seen in about a year that he and Mo Xuanyu had made out of drywall and plastic on a really stupid whim. It was so wonderful that Wei Ying even forgot for a moment that it was Lan Zhan’s picture he was looking at. And it was actually pretty good. Unpolished, sure, but hilariously serious, almost a caricature of the Lan Zhan he knew. Funny, but not in and of itself too damaging to look at.

“Uh, you live in a house full of artists, dipshit.” When Wei Ying leveled him with a glare, he rolled his eyes. “Anyway, remember those two months when we were both out of our minds with boredom and decided to learn archery?”

Oh, no. “I… do.” He didn’t remember boredom being the impetus, but if that was how Mo Xuanyu chose to interpret it…

Mo Xuanyu pointed back at the house where a pair of bows and a fuck ton of arrows were sitting against the wall. “We’re not stopping until you get bullseye.” Pulling a red marker from his back pocket, he jogged over to the drawing and circled the space between his eyes.

“Don’t you have schoolwork to do or something?”

“Yeah,” Mo Xuanyu said, “but since when has that ever stopped me?”

As weird as it was to say, Wei Ying had rather enjoyed those two months. Sure, it had sucked trying to nurse Mo Xuanyu through baby’s first major art block when he’d actually gotten accepted into a gallery showing and didn’t know what to do with himself, but it had been fun even if he couldn’t really remember how they’d settled on archery as the hobby du jour. Maybe someone had been trying to sell the equipment and they’d said fuck it, who needs money, let’s buy this shit instead. Anyway. There were a lot of good memories attached.

He hadn’t totally sucked at it either, which was nice.

And picking up one of the bows was a bit like coming home, muscle memory coming back to him immediately. Each time he let loose one of the arrows, he felt a little lighter even if it took a few tries to get back into the swing of it. This was absolutely one of the most ridiculous things he’d done in recent memory that didn’t involve Lan Zhan’s direct involvement. Shooting an image of Lan Zhan in the face with arrows was ridiculous, but it also took some of the sting out of the truth, too, like as long as he could poke fun at himself and this situation, it would get better one day.

Maybe Lan Zhan didn’t want to be friends now—that was fair, this whole… thing was still so new, this dissolution of their relationship as it once stood, anyone would need time—but that didn’t mean he’d always feel that way. Perhaps in the future, Wei Ying could try again or maybe Lan Zhan will try to meet him in the middle. It wasn’t the end of the world, what was happening to him. It wasn’t a permanent state of being.

“Dude,” Mo Xuanyu said, crowing as his arrow got center mass with a satisfying thunk. “Why did we ever give this up?”

“Got busy?” Wei Ying suggested. “I don’t know.”

“We should do this more often. Make it a thing. We can get Wen Ning to make a print of this asshole’s stupid face for us for whenever you get mad at him again.”

“You know, we really should.” Then he stopped. “Well, maybe not using Lan Zhan’s face as target practice again. That’s kind of rude. He’s not a stupid asshole either.”

“Haven’t you ever broken up with anyone before?” Mo Xuanyu asked. “Who cares about being rude? You’re supposed to denigrate their character a little bit. It’s not like he’s here now to see you.”

“I care. And no, I haven’t broken up with anyone before. I didn’t break up with anyone today either.”

“Don’t be dumb. This is absolutely a breakup. Now please vent some more of that emotion you’re trying not to have on this paper effigy. Otherwise you’ll end up shooting him in his actual face with these actual arrows and it’ll be a mess and you’ll probably cry about it and it’ll suck even more.”

Wei Ying supposed there was no arguing with that.

By the end of it though, the drawing of Lan Zhan was more holes than paper, barely recognizable.

Muscles he’d entirely forgot existed were aching and his hands felt raw from misuse and he was no closer, once he went back upstairs, to putting anything of use on that stupid blank canvas, but his burden felt lessened anyway and he was buoyed up by Mo Xuanyu’s enthusiasm from when he finally did manage to catch that drawing between the eyes and he wondered if maybe he didn’t have to be as scared of his feelings as he had been if he could manage right here and now to laugh already without the risk of doing something more embarrassing instead.

He felt, maybe for the first time since he started this, maybe since even longer than that, maybe from the very beginning, that whatever happened, no matter how hard it got, he truly could survive it.

And if he could survive it, that meant he could do the unselfish thing and let Lan Zhan go. It would hurt like hell, maybe forever, but.

He could do it. For Lan Zhan’s sake. For real this time.

When he sat down at the blank canvas the next day, he was still considering the possibility of painting it white and having done with the whole thing. However, the impulse didn’t last long and he was able, with a little prompting, to put paint to surface. He used a knife instead of a brush, scraped thick glops of acrylic across the thing, pulling the paint until he built something that might, a day, a week, a month from now, if he destroyed the paint with a lot of slow-dry medium, be something.

He wouldn’t know until he finished it.

And he wouldn’t know it was finished until it was finished.

But it was work, honest, free of the constraints he’d put on himself before.

He didn’t know quite what it was by the end, thick swirls of cool grays and blue-blacks with ribbons of those dark colors cut back out of it while the paint was still mostly wet, exposing the white beneath again, a little dingy with gray where it had begun to dry, but still pleasantly bright against the sweeping, curling darks. Huh. So maybe not a day, a week, or a month. Just a few hours.

Once it was done and fully dry, a few days at the most, Wei Ying put off calling Lan Huan for a good four or five hours before he finally worked up the courage to accept his lumps and get it over with. If he was going to be unable to work with Lan Huan any longer, he needed to know sooner rather than later.

When he called Hanshi, pacing the floor of his room to within an inch of its life, he wasn’t expecting to speak to Lan Huan himself. Normally, one of his cousins was working and it would have been nice to have a buffer between himself and Lan Zhan’s kind older brother who, if he was anything like Wei Ying, would kick the ass of anyone who dared to hurt his precious didi.

“Ah, Lan Huan,” Wei Ying said, cursing mentally as soon as he picked up. “How—how are you?”

“I’m well,” he answered, sounding not so different to Wei Ying’s ears from normal. Had Lan Zhan perhaps not said anything to him? But surely he would have figured it out even if Lan Zhan hadn’t. Those two were like two halves of one whole; they knew one another as well as they knew themselves. Lan Zhan couldn’t possibly be that cold, could he? No, not with that guilt. Maybe he’d just managed to learn how to duck Lan Huan. “How can I help you? I thought you’d dropped off the face of the planet.”

Or not. That was definitely snideness he was hearing.

“No,” he answered, unfortunately not. Dropping off the face of the planet sounded like a wonderful idea right about now. “I just wanted you to know I’ve finished your painting.”

“I see.” Yeah, Lan Huan definitely knew. No doubt, Lan Zhan’s versions of events wouldn’t be flattering to Wei Ying, nor should they be. “I’m a little surprised to hear from you.”

“That’s fair,” Wei Ying said, bland, entirely disinterested in this conversation. “Look, I’m going to be honest here—”

“Oh? Are we being honest now?”

Years of petty bickering with Jiang Cheng had rendered him immune to that particular tone of voice, even if it was surprising to hear it come out of Lan Huan’s mouth. Still, he didn’t have any argument against it. Better to not acknowledge it at all then. “The painting is done. You can have someone pick it up or I can drop it off. I don’t care. You can call me on my shit as subtly as you want to. That’s not going to change anything. I can tell you I intend to find another dealer if that’ll make you—”

“You’re what?”

He hadn’t given a single thought to it specifically before the words were out of his mouth, but it made sense to make this decision, too. The more he thought about it, the more sense it made. Every tie he could sever was for the best, right, especially when Lan Zhan couldn’t even be friends with him? There could be no working with Lan Zhan, ergo there could be no working with Lan Huan. “Finding a new dealer. And whatever fee you get for it, just write the money over to Lan Zhan.”

“Wei Ying…?” There was a troubled note in Lan Huan’s tone that Wei Ying didn’t like.

“I’m just trying to do what Lan Zhan wants, okay? This was the last obligation that remained hanging. If you don’t want it, just cut me loose.”

“What is it you think Lan Zhan wants?”

“Exactly what he told me he wanted.”

“And what is that?”

“You should ask him that question, not me.”

Lan Huan sighed, clearly disappointed, but Wei Ying wasn’t capable of managing that for him. There was plenty of disappointment going around. He could do whatever he wanted with his share. “At least tell me why I’m signing over your fee to him. He’s not going to want it whatever else happened between you.”

Resigned, Wei Ying said, “Then it’ll fit right in with everything else Lan Zhan doesn’t want, won’t it?”

“Wei Ying, that’s not fair.”

“What’s not fair is how little I understand Lan Zhan anymore. What’s not fair is how I just want Lan Zhan to be happy, but all I’ve done is make him miserable. But you know what? I’ve figured out that it doesn’t matter what’s not fair, because it is what it is. Lan Huan, take the painting or don’t, but I’m through. I’ll be okay. Lan Zhan will be okay and this’ll be it. Lan Zhan won’t have to worry about me anymore.”

“Nothing is going to stop A-Zhan from doing that,” Lan Huan insisted.

“That’s not my problem, is it? I’m just trying to do as right by him as I can now that I’ve fucked everything up as thoroughly as I did. He and you can take it or leave it. Like I said.”

“I don’t understand. Lan Zhan cares so much—”

Wei Ying didn’t throw his phone through the window, but it was a very near thing. “Lan Huan! I don’t want to hear it. I’ve let myself be steered in so many directions by listening to what other people keep telling me, so you’ll have to forgive me if I don’t take your words as gospel. I’m through talking about this and I don’t want to know what you think it is Lan Zhan is feeling. From now on, I’m basing my decisions on what Lan Zhan himself has said to me. I owe him that much. Take this painting or don’t. That’s all I want from you.”

Lan Huan took it, not easily or well, but he did so anyway, confirming the details for pickup while Wei Ying stared at the ceiling, mentally willing this conversation to be over. It wasn’t quickly enough for him, but by the time it was done, Wei Ying’s dread-filled sense of purpose was assuaged.

It really was done. Nothing he did now could ever feel as bad as these few days have felt.

There was relief to be had in that. He desperately needed to believe that.

Wei Ying had heard three things about Su She and none of them seemed to hold up under any degree of scrutiny. One, that he had taste. Two, he was nearly as good as Lan Zhan at what he did. And three, the least important, but somehow the most galling, was that some people thought he was in Lan Zhan’s league in any respect whatsoever.

He was not, not on any personal metric anyway. The only one that Wei Ying cared about right now, though, was whether he could get paintings sold and that, at least, was true enough according to what Wei Ying had heard. He had ‘a reasonable knack for getting works moved when they needed to be.’ In that sense, he was perhaps ‘nearly as good’ as Lan Zhan.

Wei Ying was very tired of dealing with this and had half a mind to sign some sort of agreement with Su She even before he stepped through the door. Now that he was here, sitting in an indifferent coffee shop that was too close to Hanshi for Wei Ying’s comfort, he just wanted it over with even though he was underwhelmed.

Everything was going fine as far as that went until Su She’s attention drifted and his eyes narrowed at something over Wei Ying’s shoulder.

Everything was going just fine until a body took the seat next to Wei Ying’s even before he could react, a body that wore the same cologne Lan Zhan wore with a voice that sounded a lot like Lan Zhan’s when he said, “No. Not you and not Wei Ying. Go.”

It was Lan Zhan. That was really, really great.

Su She opened his mouth to argue, displeasure evident in the unhappy twist of his mouth, but Lan Zhan beat him to it. “No.”

That was enough apparently. Su She pushed himself to his feet, grabbed his iced coffee, and before Wei Ying could do anything about it, threw the watered-down contents in Lan Zhan’s face before storming past them both.

Nobody moved. Nobody even breathed. Not Wei Ying, not Lan Zhan, who wasn’t reacting at all to finding himself drenched in sickeningly sweet coffee, not the other customers and staff who were awakening from their stupor and turning their attention toward the sudden, violent burst of drama, reacting enough for Wei Ying, who was still momentarily stunned.

“Holy shit,” Wei Ying said under his breath, scrambling for the too-small stack of napkins that sat in a wooden box in the center of the table. He was so overwhelmed by what happened that he didn’t think too deeply on the fact that Lan Zhan was here and that he was patting at Lan Zhan’s sticky chest with thin, useless napkins. One of the baristas arrived with more napkins and profuse apologies, but Lan Zhan waved her off after accepting said napkins, utterly at ease with this turn of events.

Wei Ying suddenly realized that Lan Zhan was only wearing a thin undershirt beneath a ratty cardigan that Wei Ying had never seen before and pulled his hands back as though burned. He could see the outline of Lan Zhan’s pecs. “Holy shit. Lan Zhan, what the hell?”

“I was expecting him to do that,” Lan Zhan said in explanation. “Wei Ying, I…” He glanced down at himself. “I should get cleaned up. Will you—can we talk? It’ll only take a minute and then you can—”

Wei Ying swallowed around the tight swell in his throat. Just seeing Lan Zhan again was a curse, but he couldn’t give the chance up anyway. Though he was afraid of just what Lan Zhan might have wanted to say, he nodded. He could always bolt later if he didn’t like what he heard. He had a lot of practice at that now.

“You won’t…?” Lan Zhan asked, worried, gaze darting toward the door.

Wei Ying shook his head; Lan Zhan let out a breath and then said, “Okay. I’ll be right back.”

While he waited, he dipped one of the napkins in the cup of water he’d thought to grab before sitting down originally and swiped it over the table. While he waited, he ordered two teas. And while he ordered, he agonized over his immediate future, what it would mean if he somehow screwed this up, too.

When Lan Zhan came back, he was wearing a much more appropriate sweater and smelled like the indifferent soap from the bathroom mixed rather unfortunately with the lingering scent of the coffee. His back was bulging a little bit, suggesting that he’d merely shoved his wet clothing into it with little regard for whether it would fit. Wei Ying, even knowing Lan Zhan was coming back, had to draw in a deep, steadying breath to center himself when Lan Zhan sat across from Wei Ying. “Lan Zhan, I…” Lan Zhan wasn’t saying anything, his face a brittle mask to Wei Ying; though his features were blank, they were not serene. Forcing himself to be more composed, he added, putting distance between them when he would have preferred to have none, “What do you need from me?”

That mask crumbled into something achingly familiar. It looked a little like the way Wei Ying had felt before, back when he himself had hope. He squashed the urge to feel that same hope now.

“Why did you give me those paintings?”

“What?”

“The paintings you chose. Why did you give them to me?”

“Lan Zhan, you commissioned paintings from me. What was I supposed to give you instead?”

That hope-like expression on Lan Zhan’s face blotted itself out, leaving only the empty, faded gold in his eyes behind. “They weren’t the ones you were working on.”

“Obviously.” What was Lan Zhan getting at here? Why was he even here if he was just asking about the paintings? Who cared about them?

“But what do they mean?”

Wei Ying didn’t have a right to be mad, he didn’t think, but he couldn’t help the petty anger threatening to boil over inside of him and scald everything including his heart, including Lan Zhan’s heart maybe. What right did Lan Zhan have to ask about this? And just after losing him a chance with another art dealer? Shouldn’t Wei Ying have the right to be upset about that? Nothing probably wasn’t the answer, but he said it anyway because he didn’t have a better one. “Nothing.”

“Don’t tell me that. Don’t tell me they mean nothing. Wei Ying—”

“I don’t know what they mean, Lan Zhan!” His voice was loud enough to echo a little, drawing again the attention of the people around them, closer to the truth. He tried to bring it down a little. “I was—I was feeling distraught. Guilty.” I was fucking in love with you. “I don’t even remember what they look like and I barely remember painting them. I sure as hell wasn’t thinking about what they meant when I did them. I only wanted to give you what you wanted.”

“What I wanted?”

“Me, Lan Zhan. You said you wanted to see me on your walls? That’s me as I am right now. It’s not—I know they aren’t pretty or, or elegant or anything like what I would have wanted to give you, but you’ll get at least some of your money back after the piece I did for Lan Huan sells. Your commission price is already tied up in Burial Mounds. Sorry.” It was difficult to speak so coldly, but he was afraid of what would happen if he didn’t.

“I don’t want your money.”

Wei Ying’s palms pressed against his eyelids as he suppressed the urge to groan in frustration. “No, you wouldn’t, would you? When have you ever wanted anything from me? I’m always the one wanting something from you.”

“Wei Ying?”

“Lan Zhan, why are you here asking about those paintings now? If this is about what I told Lan Huan—”

“What did you tell him?”

“Nothing! Just—if you feel like you’re obligated to be here, I want you to go. If he said something that made you think you had to come, I really don’t want you to be here.”

Lan Zhan frowned deeply, terribly, and looked down at the table, eyes lowered so Wei Ying couldn’t even see what was coming. Probably nothing. Lan Zhan would stand up and say goodbye again and then, maybe, Wei Ying would have some peace. “If you want another art dealer—”

“I do, Lan Zhan. I really fucking do.”

Lan Zhan nodded, as though Wei Ying’s vitriol was acceptable, understandable. “—then let me offer some names. Su She won’t be a good fit for you.”

God. God. If Lan Zhan had really come, allowed himself to get a drink thrown in his face, and gotten Wei Ying’s hopes up all to just give him replacements, Wei Ying was going to be furious. He was going to be so mad. Maybe he’d throw his drink in Lan Zhan’s face, too, that was how mad he was. And it was one of his nice sweaters that he’d changed into, expensive. It’d never recover from getting soaked. Lan Zhan would mourn its loss when it was gone. It was one of Wei Ying’s favorites. “Lan Zhan, why are you here? Right now. What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I already told you. I’m here about the paintings. I found out about Su She incidentally.” The way he said it with such dark emphasis on the word incidentally, Wei Ying knew there was a story there.

It was a story he wasn’t going to care about right now. “Why are you so hung up about the paintings?”

Lan Zhan pulled out his phone, impatient, unhappily swiping before he turned it around to show Wei Ying. It was true that he didn’t remember really what they looked like, barely a blur in his mind. It was also true that he hadn’t created them with any particular meaning in mind, no theme, just his feelings. But this photo of them—mounted to Lan Zhan’s living room wall—he’d thought they’d be interesting.

They were not interesting. No one would want to talk about them. They were too fucking sad to talk about. Mournful. Brazenly melancholic. At least the color scheme wasn’t awful. But still. Embarrassing as hell. Overworked, overwrought.

“Fuck, Lan Zhan. Why did you hang them? They look terrible.” He shoved the phone back into Lan Zhan’s hand. No wonder he had questions. “You should absolutely sell them. You don’t want that in your house, come on.”

Lan Zhan cradled his phone in his hands and looked down again at the image, then he lifted his head again. He pled quietly. “Tell me about the paintings, please.”

He really wasn’t going to get out of this. And Lan Zhan was just going to keep pestering him even though he was the one trying to push Wei Ying away all the time. Fine. Fine. Pushing himself to his feet, he grabbed his bag, pulled the strap over his head. “The only thing you need to know about those paintings,” he said, viciously efficient as he ruthlessly cut out his own heart for Lan Zhan’s edification, “is that I’ve always been in love with you.”

He didn’t expect Lan Zhan to follow him.

He wasn’t disappointed when Lan Zhan didn’t follow him.

He was maybe three steps out the door when that feeling of ‘not disappointed’ and ‘not expectant’ fell apart and the only thing he was left with was a grief so profound that he couldn’t contain it within himself any longer. It found its way out through his mouth in a single sob that he quickly stifled behind his hand because he wasn’t going to cry about this, not here, not ever. A passing couple eyed him curiously, concerned, but he dipped his head to avoid their gazes and got himself under control by the time he was on his fifth step, rebuilding himself like nothing was wrong because nothing was any more wrong now than before Lan Zhan had pulled the truth from him, nothing was different, it just felt that way and—

And his arm was yanked around from behind by a hand clasped around his elbow. Though he tried to wrench out of the touch, he couldn’t, and so he spun around and found Lan Zhan was the one grabbing him, pushing him toward the corner of the shop, pushing him toward the small, cramped alleyway beside the shop. He felt no fear that he would fall, not when he was so securely held by Lan Zhan’s hands, but he feared everything else, feared whatever else was about to go wrong because it always did these days, no matter what Wei Ying did.

“Lan Zhan.”

“Shut up,” he answered, voice raw, pushing Wei Ying up against the wall, cool through his shirt. “Just—you say so much and none of it means anything.” His eyes flashed. “And then you say that and you try to walk away.”

“Lan Zhan, I’m so—”

“Don’t say you’re sorry. Did you mean it?”

Possibly Wei Ying could have broken Lan Zhan’s hold, his forearm across Wei Ying’s chest, one hand wrapped around one of Wei Ying’s wrist, but it was pretty secure. If anyone thought to look their way, they’d think a crime against decency was being committed. A singular part of Wei Ying’s anatomy was fully onboard with such a crime. “I meant it. God, Lan Zhan. Of course, I meant it. Why would I say that now when you can’t even stand the thought of being friends with me? What’s the point if I didn’t?”

Lan Zhan let go of him, took a step back, scrubbed his hand over his face. All of this was expected, but very much counter to what Wei Ying desired. When he tried to step past Lan Zhan so he could lick his wounds in peace, Lan Zhan blocked his way.

“Lan Zhan! I know I could be in love with you or I could be your friend. I tried to choose the latter and imploded that possibility. I know it. It’s my problem to deal with. I promise I won’t cause you any trouble.”

Lan Zhan did not get out of his way.

“This is cruel,” Wei Ying insisted. “You’re not like this. Why won’t you—”

“I want you to cause me trouble,” Lan Zhan said, not meeting his eyes. “And I want how you feel to be my problem.” He finally, finally looked at Wei Ying and all Wei Ying could see there was adoration that couldn’t possibly be meant for him. “I want you to mean it.” He grabbed Wei Ying’s chin and tipped his head up, seconds from aligning their mouths for a proper kiss. “Wei Ying,” there, a kiss, barely, “I’ve loved you almost as long as I’ve known you. I only want you.”

Well, shit.

They made it back to Lan Zhan’s apartment somehow, but Wei Ying would be fucked if he could explain it when from one blink of the eye he went from kissing Lan Zhan in an alley to being shoved onto Lan Zhan’s bed, shirt and trousers pulled off with vicious, tantalizing efficiency as Lan Zhan arranged him the way he wanted him. “Like this,” he said, when Wei Ying tried to reach for him. “Grab onto the pillow if you need to, but stay put.”

Wei Ying craned his neck back, thought about that hook. If Lan Zhan really didn’t want him to touch…

He suggested as much.

Lan Zhan was already busy mouthing at his chest, biting at his ribs. Fuck, it felt so good. He was so stupid. He should never have left to begin with. “No,” he said, crushing all of Wei Ying’s dreams about the ties. “Wei Ying, I’m going to do this right this time.”

“Lan Zhan—” He pushed himself up, Lan Zhan’s request be damned, and touched Lan Zhan’s cheek, raised his head. He wasn’t ready to mess this up again because Lan Zhan was reading an entirely different book. “What are you going on about? There’s no right here. There’s no wrong.”

Lan Zhan blinked, an annoyed expression settling on his features. “Can you trust me?”

It wasn’t, Wei Ying noted, do you trust me.

The answer was the same regardless, even after everything. “Yes.”

“Then let me do this.”

Wei Ying felt a little bit like he was missing something, but he could see the desire in Lan Zhan’s eyes, his need to… do whatever it was he wanted to do. It was easy to see now. Sighing the sigh of the utterly and hopelessly defeated, he fell back and took hold of the pillow, hoping it would at least be sexy for Lan Zhan to see Wei Ying doing as he was told. “We’re going to, ah, talk about this?”

“After.” Then Lan Zhan went back to attacking Wei Ying’s body with that clever, clever mouth of his.

Wei Ying groaned, hands clenching tight in the pillow. It was a legitimate possibility that he’d tear it in two, right out from beneath his head, if he wasn’t more careful. “Fuck, you’re stubborn. Lan Zhan, I, ah…”

But Lan Zhan wasn’t listening. He was on a long-term mission to kiss every centimeter of him that was within reasonable reach until Wei Ying was trembling at every feather-light brush of Lan Zhan’s lips, body so wired he was afraid he’d sprain something. He was painfully hard and Lan Zhan wouldn’t do anything about it and Wei Ying felt as though he was a complete mess already when neither of them had—

“Lan Zhan, what if I come while you’re…” He didn’t know what Lan Zhan was envisioning here, but he hoped it involved Lan Zhan actually managing to fuck him.

“While I’m what?”

“Kissing me and not, you know, fucking me the way you should?” He didn’t know why it was important, why he wanted to come while Lan Zhan was in him and not while he was doing this, but it felt important anyway.

“Then you’ll come and I’ll do what I can to make sure you come again,” Lan Zhan said, sounding way too attractive for a guy who’d so recently been doused in coffee. Before Wei Ying could argue further, Lan Zhan was already back at it, kneeling between Wei Ying’s legs, lifting one to sucking bruises into the skin of his inner thigh while he died a little inside to know—

“Lan Zhan, say it again,” Wei Ying managed.

“Say what?” he breathed into Wei Ying’s leg.

“That you love me.”

Lan Zhan nipped lightly at the sensitive spot behind Wei Ying’s knee, forcing a gasp from Wei Ying, utterly unfair. The devastation was complete when he did exactly as Wei Ying asked. “Wei Ying, I love you.”

God, those words might actually be better than the sex they’ve had and were having and that was saying a whole hell of a lot.

By the time Lan Zhan was satisfied with what he was doing, finally going for the lube, and spreading Wei Ying’s legs, Wei Ying was pretty sure he’d never move again. Every bone in his body seemed to have dissolved save one, ha, and his muscles just… didn’t want to work. “Lan Zhan, I think you broke me. You’re gonna have to do all the work here. I hope you don’t mind.”

Fuck, it didn’t even matter if he came at this point. His entire body felt good, a little floaty, just really, really nice, like the best possible buzz a person could get. It didn’t hurt at all while Lan Zhan worked him open, little bursts of sensation breaking through the general background noise of wow, Lan Zhan is really fucking awesome, he really loves me, he knows I love him.

Lan Zhan did something and then grunted slightly, going still for the first time since this started. With a little effort, he said, “I don’t mind,” and then his hands were tightening on Wei Ying’s hips, pinning him to the bed and Wei Ying realized that, oh, hey, that was Lan Zhan in him. He opened his eyes and looked down to where they were joined and Lan Zhan wasn’t moving at all.

“You’re the best, Lan Zhan,” he said, squeezing experimentally as Lan Zhan gasped, thumbs pressing ever harder into Wei Ying’s hips. “Are you going to fuck me or what?”

“Shh,” Lan Zhan said, a little on edge. “Don’t—this isn’t going to last if you keep doing that.”

“So what if it doesn’t? We’ll do it again. You can last longer next time if it’s that important.” Wei Ying stretched languidly, shifting Lan Zhan inside of him, eliciting a really cool sound from Lan Zhan. “Fuck me as fast as you want to.”

“Wei Ying?”

Through the truly sublime haze Lan Zhan had put him into, Wei Ying acknowledged that maybe this thing he was missing needed to be addressed. It must have been important. Something that probably shouldn’t be coming up while Lan Zhan was inside of him. Unfortunately, that was exactly where Lan Zhan was and he was doing exactly the opposite of what he wanted, Wei Ying could tell, he was barely restraining himself, even though he had permission and the only thing Wei Ying could think to do was remove a variable from the equation, which was why he bullied himself into moving just enough to wrap his hand around his dick and pulled once, hard, earning himself that orgasm that Lan Zhan had been teasing him with the whole time. It, like the rest of him, was languid, almost gentle, for all that it was incredibly intense, too and for a moment, Wei Ying wasn’t in any position to do anything except breathe through it.

“What—?” Lan Zhan asked, jerking, the angle of his cock shifting inside of Wei Ying.

“Look upon your works, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying finally said. “Why don’t you show me how much you like me by coming really fucking fast, huh? You don’t even have to worry if I get off or not, because hey! I did. You’re so good.” He really was. Wei Ying was so lucky and for once it was Lan Zhan being the stupid one, which was a nice change of pace. “Let go. I feel like you haven’t been with me. Make it good for you for once.”

“I…”

Wei Ying squeezed around him again, ground down against him, drew another gasp from him until Lan Zhan finally pulled out and then pushed back in. The first stroke was experimental, but the next ones were very much not. Lan Zhan knew exactly what he was doing, drove hard into Wei Ying’s pliant body, hitting spots inside of him that he’d never felt before and was intrigued to feel again.

If Wei Ying hadn’t just come, it would’ve happened now, he was sure. He liked it, the burn and drag of Lan Zhan inside of him, the flex of Lan Zhan’s muscles as he pounded into him, the way he screwed his eyes shut, mouth falling open slightly, hair damp and curling lightly from the exertion. He liked that it hurt a little bit and that Lan Zhan was so close to losing it for Wei Ying, because of Wei Ying.

They were going to do this again as quickly as humanly possible. None of this sweet, lingering kissing to keep Wei Ying from getting the full main course. He said as much when Lan Zhan was spent, chest heaving, arms trembling as he held himself up above Wei Ying’s body. “You’re going to fuck me like that again soon, Lan Zhan,” he insisted as Lan Zhan slipped free, fluid leaking from within him, and even that was awesome. “I don’t even care if I have time to come or not.”

“Wei Ying,” he said, forbidding, embarrassed as he tried to disentangle himself, maybe a little relieved, too, stunned, all of those words for when your world’s been knocked sideways in the best possible way.

“No, stay.”

“There’s going to be a wet spot.”

“I’ve earned this wet spot. It’s mine,” he insisted, yanking on Lan Zhan’s arm while his own muscles learned to work again. “I’m gonna keep it. Please. Just. For a few minutes at least? Can we lay here?”

Lan Zhan’s gaze softened and he nodded, carefully crawling onto the bed, pulling Wei Ying into his arms, half-draping Wei Ying across his chest, and, incidentally, keeping Wei Ying away from the wet spot. What a gentleman.

“We’re going to have to be adults, aren’t we?” he said after those few minutes were up, serious again. Lan Zhan didn’t seem to have any intention of moving anytime soon however, no matter what he’d said before.

“Probably.”

“We’ll have to talk about it?”

“Mn.”

“Do you think we’re capable?”

Lan Zhan held on more tightly to him. “Anything’s possible.”

“But you love me and… we can be friends?”

“Yes, Wei Ying.”

“So it shouldn’t be bad to talk. We can remember we’re in love and that we want to be friends.” If he said it out loud enough, he might actually believe it. They were in love. They could still be friends.

“That will make it easier.”

“Lan Zhan, are you just patronizing me?” he asked.

Instead of answering immediately, Lan Zhan pressed a sincere kiss to his forehead. “No.”

Walking his fingers up Lan Zhan’s chest, Wei Ying hummed, thoughtful. “Then… first order of business: I want my key back. It was my favorite key, did you know?” Perhaps it was bold to start there, but he wanted to stake his claim, felt on solid ground for the first time in a very long time. He was going to take advantage while he didn’t have enough neurons firing to ruin it. “I liked it a lot.”

That solid ground was already paying off dividends when Lan Zhan said, “Then it’s a good thing it was always yours.”

Yeah, Wei Ying thought, smiling into the curve of Lan Zhan’s bicep, they’d be okay. Even if they did have to be adults, and sooner rather than later.

Before, Wei Ying might have gunned for later, much later, possibly never.

But Wei Ying, as he watched Lan Zhan watching him, was beginning to think there might be a very good reason why sooner might be the much, much better option.

Wei Ying was not surprised to find Lan Zhan was awake before him. That was always the case and probably would always be the case and Wei Ying accepted it because he loved Lan Zhan, even if he woke at a ridiculous hour of the morning for no good reason that Wei Ying could see. What did surprise him was the fact that Lan Zhan remained in bed with him this time, fingers brushing lightly through his hair, the rest of him entirely still as Wei Ying used him as a body pillow, arms wrapped around him, their legs tangled together.

When Wei Ying stretched, he felt it everywhere. “Mm, Lan Zhan,” he said, curling back toward him after every joint and muscle was appropriately accounted for. With his ear against Lan Zhan’s chest, he could hear the rapid beating of his heart, not quite soothing, but needed all the same. “Should we get this over with or can we bury our heads in the sand for a while longer?”

Lan Zhan said nothing for a short time, fingers still rifling through the messy tangle of Wei Ying’s hair. “I would like to talk, I think.”

“You think?”

“You’re not the only one who might find the truth a frightening prospect.”

The thought of Lan Zhan being afraid of anything was ludicrous on the face of it, but when Lan Zhan said it, that made it real and Wei Ying suddenly found it easy to be the brave one; he wanted to protect Lan Zhan from his fears, especially when he knew Lan Zhan didn’t need to have them. Pushing himself up on his arms, he looked down at Lan Zhan’s face, brushed his hair from his eyes. “What will be easier for you? Me asking first or you?”

Lan Zhan considered the question. “You, first.”

It made sense. Lan Zhan already knew all the answers on his side. It was Wei Ying’s that were apparently so inscrutable to him. But for Wei Ying, there was only one real question, though he might have asked it in any number of ways. “No assumptions and no stupid questions, okay? Good faith all around?”

Lan Zhan nodded.

“I understand that you love me,” he said, more careful than he’d ever been with his words before, “but are we together? Romantically?”

“If you wan—” When Wei Ying glared at him, he stopped, started again, understood exactly why Wei Ying was glaring without Wei Ying saying it. No more of this only taking into account the other’s feelings. They had to take their own into account. “I would like to be with you.”

“Okay,” Wei Ying said. So far, so good. “Excellent. Me, too. Go us. So we can wear couple’s costumes to Nie Huaisang’s parties now. Awesome.” Settling back against Lan Zhan’s chest, he took Lan Zhan’s hand in his and squeezed before inspecting his palm, touching just to touch, just because he could. Huh. Funny how easy it could be. “Your turn. Whenever you’re ready.”

“That’s it?”

“Huh?”

“That’s all you wanted to ask about?”

“It’s… the only thing that matters to me, Lan Zhan. Everything else was me drawing shitty conclusions. How about this: if I have more questions, I’ll interrupt you horribly and ask them?” When Wei Ying raised his head again, Lan Zhan was chewing his lip, which wasn’t right at all, so he poked Lan Zhan’s cheek until he stopped. “No stupid questions, remember?”

“Since you love me, too,” he said finally, carefully, “why did you leave when we…?” The question was so quiet and hesitant, like Lan Zhan still believed there was a chance that this might be game over, no more chances, if he wasn’t diligent.

Ah, but how did he explain it to Lan Zhan? He’d already made the big admission, but could he explain to Lan Zhan what it meant? Too many words crowded his mouth and too few, but he wanted to give all of them to Lan Zhan anyway. “Being with you was like touching the sun. How could I stay?” People said that Lan Zhan was cold sometimes, but people were idiots. They didn’t know him. To Wei Ying, he was the sun and more and just as unattainable before Lan Zhan showed him otherwise. “Lan Zhan, you’re brilliant and wonderful, but I never saw you give me a second glance, not when I flirted with you, not when I complimented you, not when I touched you or teased you. You were my friend and I knew I pushed your boundaries, but it never went anywhere. You never dated anyone or showed an interest in anybody. I just assumed that meant you weren’t interested in any of that. I didn’t really let myself think about it much.”

But that wasn’t the answer, was it? Not all of it. Not enough of it to justify the pain he’d caused Lan Zhan.

“I didn’t know I loved you at first. Not for a long time. Not until after I thought I’d figured you out and realized it wouldn’t go anywhere. But it was okay, being in love with you, because you let me flirt with you anyway and you never acted like I was fucking it up by doing so. I never felt like a burden to you. And it was okay that I loved you, because you gave me everything I needed just by letting me be around you.”

There, that was closer. Rubbing his cheek against Lan Zhan’s chest, he sighed and tried to gather more words together, pressed his palm against Lan Zhan’s abdomen and felt each inhalation he made from there. It soothed the worst of Wei Ying’s nerves, allowed him keep going.

“And then I found out why you didn’t want me to come over on Wednesdays and it drove me crazy to think I’d missed such a fundamental part of who you were and all I could think about was being with you in that way, too, and how you deserved someone who loved you, not these assholes who—who talked so cavalierly about how good you were in bed, like any of that mattered. I asked you out because I couldn’t stop myself and then we had sex and I thought that would be it and we’d go back to normal because how could I receive more of you than what you gave to other men? If it was meant to be more, wouldn’t it have happened sooner?”

“Wei Ying.”

He drew in a breath, amazing himself with what he was saying, how it could be that he could say this now, when he should have said it always, when he never imagined he’d be able to say anything like this. He plowed forward, overwhelmed, because Lan Zhan deserved to know.

“But then you kept being wonderful, did all these amazing things to me, made me feel things I didn’t know were possible. It was kind of you, offering that much of yourself to me like that. You’re so kind, Lan Zhan. That was how I thought of it at the time.

“You were finally looking at me and I didn’t want to give it up. I never wanted to give it up. No matter how nervous it made me, I wanted to stay. I wanted to tie you so tightly to myself that you couldn’t have gone even if you wanted to. Lan Zhan, that’s fucked up, right? You’re your own person and you don’t—I’d heard that you never… with anyone twice. I figured I was lucky or something, that you would bend your rule for me even a little bit. It was selfish to want more, but I wanted more anyway.

“Then you were going to let me draw you finally and you were going to let me use your mother’s things to do it, barely batting an eyelash as you handed them over to me, and I wasn’t worth that. You took me apart with that gesture and I couldn’t stick around to let you put me back together because I knew I would end up like Li Wenfang trailing after you asking for more, willing to throw my dignity aside on the off-chance you might glance my way again.

“I didn’t want to become a nuisance to you. I didn’t want to be someone you grew cold toward, like him. That’s why I… I couldn’t stay when we couldn’t be together. Honestly, Lan Zhan, I was trying so hard to hold it together long enough to more gracefully pull away, but I just—I wanted the time with you so much. Too much. I picked the worst possible moment to leave, but that moment broke something in me. I wasn’t thinking anymore except about I couldn’t go on like this. I had to go.”

“You really had no idea how I felt,” was all Lan Zhan said in response, voice quivering. He was so quiet again. Too quiet.

“Lan Zhan, I think we’ve firmly established I’m not the most observant person on the planet. I didn’t know. I would have done so many things differently if I did.”

Lan Zhan swallowed and Wei Ying was close enough to hear the click of his throat, dry and rasping. Wei Ying couldn’t not look at him, so he lifted himself up again, broke his own heart to see the gleam of unshed tears in Lan Zhan’s eyes, blinked away quickly. If Wei Ying hadn’t looked up just then, he might not have seen them. “Wei Ying, all those things you said about me, I could say about you. You flirted, but I never saw you show an interest in anyone. I assumed the same, that you just weren’t interested, and I enjoyed it without allowing myself to think it was anything more.”

Wei Ying, drawing circles over Lan Zhan’s stomach to distract himself, said, “There was only ever you. I like flirting, but there was no one else I ever wanted to be with.” He laughed bitterly. “The night you found me dancing with Mianmian, we were all out to try to find someone who might catch my eye. I knew within a minute of stepping in the bar next door that it was a lost cause. I’m just not wired that way, I guess. I don’t know.”

“I thought I pushed you too far,” Lan Zhan said after a moment during which neither of them spoke. “That night. I thought you’d figured out how I felt about you. The way you reacted to my mother’s supplies… I didn’t think it could be anything else. When you asked me to… I wanted to make it good for you, to make up for complicating what we were doing. I hoped that you would overlook it if I was…”

He shook his head as though to clear scattered thoughts.

Ah, wait. A question. He had one. Even though he feared the answer, he was going to ask it. “Lan Zhan, why are you so concerned about being good for me? Was I somehow not clear or…?”

When Lan Zhan tried to look away, Wei Ying gently took his chin in hand and brought his gaze back. “You were clear. It was just that… Li Wenfang told me that you overheard him talking about us once. He said I should let you down already or screw you out of your misery.”

Wei Ying supposed he wasn’t wrong. Not quite in the way he maybe meant, but still. It was impossible to fully control the anger in his voice that Li Wenfang should have said that and in that way. “He said that?”

Lan Zhan nodded absently. “He didn’t realize we were already intimate, but after he said that I thought maybe that was why you kept letting me touch you. I wasn’t living up to what you knew about me and so you were disappointed. I was able…” Lan Zhan sighed deeply as though he regretted his whole life leading up to this moment. “I could last longer with them, do things with them and to them that I haven’t had the patience or… longevity to do to you. I thought somehow he could see that you were unsatisfied when I couldn’t do the same for you. You deserve better from me than what I could give to them.”

God. God. “…oh Lan Zhan, no.” He grabbed Lan Zhan’s face again, held it gently between his both hands. “Lan Zhan, it wouldn’t have mattered to me if you were terrible as long as I was with you, but you were so good. I wasn’t lying about that ever.”

Lan Zhan didn’t answer and his gaze went all slippery; Wei Ying couldn’t catch it again and decided to let Lan Zhan have that hint of privacy. He tucked his head under Lan Zhan’s chin.

“Lan Zhan, before this all happened, I called him,” Wei Ying admitted. “We didn’t just run into one another once. I didn’t just overhear him talking about you. I’m not sure why he didn’t decide to embarrass me further by telling you that part, but I tracked him down and asked him how he managed to get your attention. He drove me out of my mind, managing something I thought I never could. That’s how I ended up asking you out to begin with. I should have told you I knew him. I shouldn’t have—Lan Zhan, you were amazing, but it was never about that. I just wanted to be with you. I didn’t want to be with you because I heard you were amazing in bed.”

Lan Zhan tilted his head down, lifted Wei Ying’s; his eyes were wide, every vulnerability on display. Wei Ying recognized everything he saw there and wondered how he’d never seen it before. He made a small, broken sound in the back of his throat. “Wei Ying, I would have given you everything you wanted for as long as you wanted it from me, even if it meant nothing more to you than what the others meant to me. If you could want me…” His voice grew quiet again. “If you wanted me… even if it was just an experiment or… stress relief or whatever, that would have been more than enough.”

It was just when Wei Ying pulled the plug that everything fell apart. Right. That wasn’t sad at all.

And then before Wei Ying could react, Lan Zhan was pulling him into a tight embrace, dragging Wei Ying on top of him so that he was forced to straddle Lan Zhan’s body. His arms wrapped around Wei Ying’s neck and their flanks brushed awkwardly from the way they were sitting and it was a little indecent with so little clothing between them, but Wei Ying didn’t care. He didn’t care, because Lan Zhan was breathing into his neck, hitched and wet, and clutching him close.

“Lan Zhan, I really didn’t know. I thought I could just—that we could… I didn’t mean to hurt you. You were never an experiment to me.”

“I know now, but I didn’t know how else to understand it after you said we were friends,” Lan Zhan said, lifting his head for only a moment before he dropped it again. “I should have been truthful about my feelings for you.”

He thought about everything Lan Zhan had done and said to him ever since this started. He’d never been anything except forthright and earnest, showing Wei Ying with his actions that he wanted him around, touching him, indulging him. He’d known without knowing, seen it without internalizing it. Everything Lan Zhan did for him was an act of love and he had a sneaking suspicion now about what Lan Zhan might have really meant when he first asked for Wei Ying’s commission. “Why did you want me to paint your walls?”

“I wanted you in my home,” he said, forehead still pressed against Wei Ying’s throat, “in the only way I thought was open to me. It took me a long time to work up to asking you about it, but it seemed like the right time. There was something different about you.”

Wei Ying laughed wetly. “Lan Zhan, you’re stupid. How often am I at your place?”

“Not often enough.”

Wei Ying was actually going to die. “See, Lan Zhan. You did your part. I just wasn’t listening.”

Lan Zhan let go of him and looked at him with somber eyes. “No, I should have… it was easy to do those things, because if you didn’t feel the same way, it could be ignored or reasoned away. I ought to have told you. I think I knew what I was doing when I didn’t. It did me no credit.”

“Like I ought to have told you? Lan Zhan, I’m the one who made you feel like you were an experiment.”

“And I punished you when I told you I didn’t want to be friends. I saw how you looked when I said that. I thought you were trying to tell me… I don’t know. I just wasn’t ready to hear you tell me that it would never happen again even though it was already clear that it would not, but I shouldn’t have said it. It wasn’t even true.”

Lan Zhan really would just take all the blame, wouldn’t he? This was the consequence of Lan Zhan’s willingness to forgive him. Even if Lan Zhan’s understanding of the situation had been correct, he would have forgiven Wei Ying. Lan Zhan would always have come back, even if he believed they couldn’t be more. “Who wouldn’t say that in that moment? I was hurting you.”

“I didn’t know I was the sort of person who could do that to you, who was capable of saying such a vindictive thing. I wish I didn’t know. You didn’t deserve that and I regretted it immediately. Nothing you’d done earned it. I was still trying to figure out how to apologize to you when my brother told me you intended to find another art dealer. The whole time, you were far clearer in what you believed this was than I ever was.”

That didn’t sound accurate to Wei Ying’s understanding of the situation at all. “Lan Zhan, seriously?”

“You set my expectations that we were doing this as friends,” he insisted. “I was the one who turned it against you when you flipped the script and it got to be too much for me. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Just love me like you have been, Lan Zhan. That’s all I want.”

“I will. Wei Ying, I promise.”

It was still a little difficult for Wei Ying to believe that he’d had Lan Zhan’s devotion this whole time, but he wasn’t going to question it. He’d questioned so much lately; he was sick of it. Questioning himself had gotten him nowhere.

So he was going to earn that devotion instead. Every moment of every day.

He felt wrung out, but entirely new at the same time: exhilarated, exhausted. There was probably so much more to discuss, but Wei Ying wasn’t sure he could feel anything else right now, not without falling apart at the seams. With the way Lan Zhan held himself, so still, trembling, it seemed like maybe he was at the end of his tether, too. There would be time for more later. If they could just be now for a little while, that would be good.

“Hey, Lan Zhan?”

“Hmm?”

“Next time,” he said, no need to explain what next time meant when he reached for Lan Zhan’s hip, squeezed the bone lightly between his fingers, then palmed at his side. “Next time, no-holds barred, okay?”

Lan Zhan regarded him closely, searching Wei Ying’s face. All he would find was Wei Ying’s hopes for him: that he would also feel entirely safe expressing himself, the way Wei Ying felt he could safely express himself. “Very well. No-holds barred.”

If Lan Zhan wanted him to stay—no, not if, because Lan Zhan wanted him to stay—Wei Ying could make that happen.

It was only that it required doing the last thing in the world Wei Ying enjoyed, which was looking at Burial Mounds’s finances. But it was the first thing he needed to do now that…

Now that he absolutely hated trying to stay the night here when he had another choice in the matter, when he knew that Lan Zhan was happier when Wei Ying stayed over. Which was… basically every day. But he still felt like some of the time he had to come back. All of his stuff and studio space was here; he was still at least nominally responsible for its care. It wasn’t a better choice, being away from here. He didn’t want to go that far. Burial Mounds had been good to him over the years and he’d been good to it and it was home, but it was becoming home in the way Yunmeng used to be home, a place he was growing away from.

As much as he was dreading it, two weeks of dragging his feet was enough.

There was another place he belonged now and he needed to make it happen, but it also needed to be done in a way that wouldn’t leave any of the people here in the lurch.

He smiled a little sadly as he rifled through the paperwork, laptop open on the counter next to him. It was a little bittersweet to think about, but it was worth it for what could come of it. Besides, if he’d learned nothing else of late, it was that the people around him were a great deal more together than he was. Perhaps that extended to this, too.

He heard the precise shuffle of Wen Qing’s slippers on the kitchen floor and called, without turning around, “Wen-jie, we should—”

Then there was an equally familiar gait, except—it wasn’t familiar here. Jiang Cheng never came here, but—

He turned and got an eyeful of his brother, tousle-haired and vacant-gazed, and—

“Oh, god, my virgin eyes,” Wei Ying cried, smacking his palm over face. “How long have you been here?” There were hickeys on his neck and lipstick in two shades smeared across his jaw and when Wei Ying peeked through his fingers, Jiang Cheng had gotten with the program, murderous intent in the glare he shot at Wei Ying. Thank every deity in the known world, he was wearing a t-shirt at least. “Didi, shouldn’t you be calmer right now?”

“You—!”

“Wei Ying,” Wen Qing said in warning, but as an elder sibling, she should understand his right to tease his younger brother. There was no other benefit to being older than Jiang Cheng. She grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator and handed it to Jiang Cheng, gaze softening when she looked at him, which was just great. Jiang Cheng already felt like he won every argument they ever had. If he ended up with Wen Qing on his side, Wei Ying would never get his way. But that was a problem for another time. Now that Wen Qing was dangling her presence in front of his face like this, he kind of wanted to pull her aside and make her help.

He was rather impatient.

“What are you doing here so early?” she asked, suspicious, while also giving him the opening he needed. She came around behind him and squinted down at the paper and the laptop. “What’s all this?”

“I couldn’t sleep well last night…” But now Jiang Cheng was showing interest, too, subsuming his embarrassment beneath a veneer of simmering rage. Really, getting railed should have improved his personality, but apparently it only exacerbated it. That just figured. “It’s a little early to be thinking about this maybe, but… I’d like to move in with Lan Zhan one day—” One day very, very soon. “—but I’ll only do that if it won’t hurt Burial Mounds.” He didn’t even have to consider the possibility that Lan Zhan wouldn’t want it.

“That fast?” Jiang Cheng asked.

“Jiang Cheng!” Wen Qing said, in the same exact voice she used on Wei Ying, and he gloated internally and then was jealous as hell when an apologetic expression actually crossed Jiang Cheng’s face. What the hell kind of magic did she work on him that scolding him in that tone actually worked?

Actually, he didn’t want to know. Even if it wasn’t sexy magic, Wen Qing was formidable. Probably he was just scared of her, which he ought to be.

“If that’s what you want to do, you shouldn’t think about us. We can manage even without you if necessary.”

“I know, but…”

Wen Qing’s lips pursed. “But you don’t want to let anyone down?”

“…no.”

Wen Qing nodded and grabbed one of the other stools. “We’re not entirely incompetent, you know,” she said, apparently entirely forgetting why she was here in the first place in favor of tackling this. Jiang Cheng, also forgetting what he was doing here, stepped up behind both of them, leaning close to read the pages and the screen. Wen Qing kept talking, “The biggest sustained hit would be the mortgage, but if we had at least a few months to figure it out, it should be fine. In fact…”

“In fact?” Wei Ying asked.

“Qingyang’s lease is up at her place in November. She’s stably employed and it would be nice to have her closer by.” Her gaze flicked over to Jiang Cheng’s face. “I think we’d both agree?”

Though Jiang Cheng gritted his teeth, he answered quickly and eagerly enough. “Yes.”

“I could take over your studio space and give her mine,” she continued, making Wei Ying wonder just how long she’s been thinking about this. “There’d be plenty of room for her to work, too.”

“Won’t it be a pain to get your pieces down the stairs though?” He wasn’t sure why he wanted to punch holes through her perfectly acceptable idea, other than he believed it was way too good to be true.

She slapped her hand across Jiang Cheng’s chest. “I’ve got two perfectly strapping young men at my disposal now. Between A-Ning and Jiang Cheng, I think I can manage.” Sighing, she poked Wei Ying’s arm. “Look, I’m not saying it will be easy all the time, but—but you’re more than this place’s safety net. Other people have moved on from here; you can, too. You can do something just for you.”

Wei Ying swallowed around a lump in his throat, easily cleared, not a problem at all. He wasn’t friends with the best people on the planet or anything. “If you ever needed anything, you know you can come to me, right?”

“No shit,” she said, agreeable, pleasant. “We can go over the financial portion in more detail and get the paperwork sorted. I’m sure you’ll want your name off of everything, too. But I think it’ll be good for you and it might be good for us here, too.”

“Okay.” Okay, yeah. That was good. Sounded fake and too easy, but good. They’d get a plan of attack together and then he could—

“You gonna tell him now or what?” Jiang Cheng asked.

“Let’s make sure everything will square here first,” he said. The last thing he wanted to do was get Lan Zhan’s hopes up only for it to fall through at the last minute because he’d missed something. It wouldn’t be the end of the world, of course, and he spent most of his time at Lan Zhan’s place anyway, but he could imagine the quickly hidden look of disappointment if he didn’t handle this just right and that was the last thing he wanted to do to Lan Zhan.

Later, after Jiang Cheng and Wen Qing had retreated back to Wen Qing’s room, breakfast carried on a pair of trays in a way that was both quaint and charming, Wei Ying gathered his things and made his way to Lan Zhan’s, eager to see him the way he was always eager to see him, eager and allowed to be eager, eager and spectacularly happy to be eager.

are you home, he messaged, because Lan Zhan’s hours were variable and sometimes, sometimes he was lucky.

I can be, Lan Zhan answered, which Wei Ying was coming to understand meant that Lan Zhan was going to put aside whatever he was doing to indulge Wei Ying. Sometimes, he indulged himself and that was even nicer, even if he still had to prod or cajole a teeny bit.

Wei Ying wondered which it would be today.

(Wei Ying wasn’t left wondering for long.)

“Lan Zhan, what’s going on with you?” Wei Ying asked, clinging to Lan Zhan’s arm. It was in no way, shape, or form different than a lot of the other times Wei Ying hung onto Lan Zhan, except for how it was entirely different because Lan Zhan liked him and liked it when Wei Ying wrapped his arms around Lan Zhan’s, even when they were out in public, especially when they were out in public. Right now, all they were doing was walking down the street outside of Lan Zhan’s condo after having walked by the lake—they did that now, took walks together by the lake—and Wei Ying was practically vibrating with excitement and curiosity. Curiosity because Lan Zhan seemed so uncharacteristically nervous about it. “Where are we going?”

Lan Zhan’s brand of quiet came in two flavors: normal and agitated. Agitated could be broken down into petty, ruffled, displeased, and skittish.

This was one of the latter, the latter most of the latter. He was feeling skittish. Wei Ying was sure.

“Just back to the condo,” Lan Zhan said, furrowing his brow as though Wei Ying didn’t see right through him. He might think he was acting cool, but Wei Ying could feel the tension in his body.

“And soooo,” Wei Ying said, tapping his fingers up and down Lan Zhan’s bicep.

“So?” Bland, like pretending he wasn’t nervous could solve the problem of Wei Ying pestering him about it.

“So why are you worried?”

Lan Zhan scoffed and tapped in his code at the gate, letting Wei Ying through with a grandiose sweep of his hand. Wei Ying didn’t dare call it sarcastic, but it absolutely was.

“Lan Zhan!”

“Wei Ying.”

“Lan Zhaaaaaaan.”

Lan Zhan of course didn’t indulge him in parroting the whining tone, but Wei Ying didn’t expect it anyway. He was just happy to be here with Lan Zhan. Or anywhere really. It didn’t matter to him as long as Lan Zhan was there.

Whatever troubled Lan Zhan, it didn’t concern Wei Ying overmuch; he was only anxious to be able to ease Lan Zhan’s concerns whenever he finally gave voice to them. There was nothing that Lan Zhan could say to him that he wasn’t prepared to hear.

He’d learned his lesson about hearing Lan Zhan and letting Lan Zhan be heard in whatever way he could convey his meaning. It wasn’t always with words, but it usually was.

They were upstairs before Wei Ying knew it and he immediately went over to where Turpentine was trying to burrow into the couch, back legs working hard around as she nudged her head under the pillow. Yanking a small bag of treats from his pocket, he sat next to her and scooped her up gently before depositing her in his lap and placing one of the treats onto the top of his knee. “What’s gotten into your father, I wonder,” he said, loud enough for Lan Zhan to hear as he prepared tea in the kitchen like he always did after their walks because he was boring and sweet and Wei Ying loved it, being boring and sweet. “Doesn’t he know by now he can tell me anything?”

Turpentine sniffed at the treat, then nibbled it, expressing no interest in Wei Ying’s musings. He didn’t succeed in suckering Lan Zhan into spilling based on such little work, not that he expected it, but it was amusing all the same and it felt nice to reiterate that Lan Zhan could say what he wanted, that Wei Ying wouldn’t—do what he’d done before, not again. In turn, he did trust that Lan Zhan would tell him.

Maybe ten minutes later, though it felt like much longer, Lan Zhan came over with a pot of tea, two mugs hooked over his pinkie, clinking lightly together, and a plate of the truly atrocious brand of packaged cookies Wei Ying liked, all chemical-laced sugar that fought against the elegant flavor of the tea Lan Zhan always bought rather than enhancing it in any way.

“Lan Zhan spoils me,” Wei Ying said, cooing down at Turpentine, who then hopped back over to the corner of the couch she’d been investigating, burrowing behind the pillow.

Though Wei Ying set one of the dried chunks of pineapple onto the cushion for her, she showed no interest in it this time, so focused on the couch.

Lan Zhan swept the pineapple into his palm as soon as he’d emptied his hands and moved into the spot, pulling Turpentine into his lap and feeding it to her, a perfect mirror to what Wei Ying had done a moment earlier.

“Aww. Let her live, Lan Zhan.” Admittedly, it was a little bit odd for her to go digging that way, but who didn’t get a little strange from time to time? “She had to learn some mischievous behavior from being around me for so long.”

“Mn,” he said, still nervous and not a little awkward.

Once she’d eaten the treat, he put her on the floor and nudged her lightly with his foot to get her on her way. He placed his hand behind his back, near to where Turpentine had been nosing around.

“I should have put this away better,” Lan Zhan said, explaining nothing at all about the big mystery, “but you were a lot quicker getting here today than I expected, so.”

Yeah, because he was excited to see Lan Zhan. “So what if I was early?”

So he retrieved a black bag from behind the cushion. The bag answered none of Wei Ying’s questions, but did manage to raise several more, which was rather impressive given Wei Ying’s active imagination. “I would like to revisit the ties.”

“The…?” Then Wei Ying flushed. “The ties! Oh, Lan Zhan. I thought you’d never ask.” He snatched the bag from Lan Zhan’s hand and opened it to find… cuffs, four of them, beautifully crafted from soft dark leathers and lightly lined in fur, nothing tasteless, just comfortable, thoughtful, sweet in a really, really sexy way. “You’ve gone and upgraded on me.” Pouting, he added, “Without me.”

Wei Ying knew he’d gotten his secretively delightful bastard of a boyfriend when his ears turned red. “We can both go next time.”

“I think I’m jealous this time. Imagine being the clerk and seeing you walk in.”

“Wei Ying.”

“You’re so beautiful and poised. And thorough. How long were you there?” He threw himself into Lan Zhan’s lap, grabbed at his shoulders, the bag rustling awkwardly between them. “Did you get a little hard while you inspected each and every one?”

“Wei Ying.”

“I bet you did.”

“No.”

“When you say I was a lot quicker getting here today than normal, what you really mean is you were running very late, right?”

“Wei Ying.”

Sniffing theatrically, Wei Ying clutched the bag close, crinkling it between his clenched hands. “Lan er-gege is going to have to take me to bed just to make this up to me.”

Lan Zhan hauled himself upright, scoffing, and dragging Wei Ying along with him, catching his hands under Wei Ying’s thighs as he scrambled to wrap his legs around Lan Zhan’s waist. The only thing that saved the bag from tumbling to the floor was the fact that it was currently squished between them. “Lan Zhan!”

“I’ll take you to bed,” he said, voice barely strained, as though he lifted grown men all the time, which was kind of hot, especially because Wei Ying knew where it mattered that he never would have done this with anyone else.

“What about the tea?” Wei Ying asked, barely containing a laugh as an incredulous look crossed Lan Zhan’s face.

Lan Zhan spared a single glance at the pot, the pair of cups, the plate of cookies, and hummed, disinterested. “Fuck the tea.”

Once they actually made it to the bedroom—they did have to make a few stops to kiss against the way, Wei Ying pressed against the wall as Lan Zhan sucked lines down his throat or Wei Ying bit at his collarbone through his shirt or simply because Lan Zhan thought it was necessary to feel him up—Lan Zhan laid him gently on the sheets, putting the bag aside before he started to climb on top.

These sheets were definitely new on a bed that was not the bed he’d had this morning and that needed comment.

“Lan Zhan,” he said, pushing himself upright and crawling around a little bit. This thing was fucking huge, a platform bed like the old one, but there was no headboard and he didn’t have to wonder long about where exactly the restraints were supposed to wind up because screwed discreetly into the wood frame were a variety of shiny metal loops at various distances across the back. He held his arms out wide to match the loops and was left feeling like his arousal had mugged him in an alley somewhere. It just wasn’t playing fair. They were… very specifically placed. “Oh.”

Lan Zhan watched him keenly, gaze sharp and warm, as he worked his way to the foot of the bed. He was disappointed when he didn’t see any matching loops there.

“Underneath,” Lan Zhan said.

Lan Zhan.

“Are you so ashamed, Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying said, teasing, bracing his hands on the ground as he looked underneath. There were, indeed, matching loops in the part of the platform that jutted a little out from the platform’s base. From this angle, they looked… rather well reinforced. Wriggling, he righted himself, the heat in his face only mostly from hanging upside down off the bed. “You have to hide what you want under the bed?”

Lan Zhan sniffed. “It would have disrupted the aesthetic.”

“And it’s always about the aesthetic, right?”

“No,” Lan Zhan said, “but in this case, yes. If you don’t like it…”

“You’re so naughty. I do like it.”

As he guided Wei Ying down, arranged him the way he wanted, locking the restraints around Wei Ying’s wrists and hooking them together, he said, deadpan, “You caught me,” before retrieving a leather strap, silver clasps on either end. Wei Ying wasn’t sure where he got it from, presumably a drawer in the bed frame, because he was kind of preoccupied with the cuffs and testing them. These things really were soft and he’d never be able to pull the same shit he did before with these. He could barely move them. Though he sort of missed the ties, he rather liked the thought of Lan Zhan buying something specifically for him. When Wei Ying came back from his imaginings, Lan Zhan was still watching him. Heat banked itself in his gaze, but there was concern to be found there, too, sweet and misplaced. “How do they feel?”

“Nice.” He held his wrists out for Lan Zhan to inspect. “Do you like them?”

Lan Zhan showed him exactly how much he liked them, stretching his arms above his head, snapping one end of the strap to the cuffs and stretching to reach the loop. He showed Wei Ying until Wei Ying’s voice was hoarse and he was biting at his own bicep to muffle himself and time no longer had any meaning and he didn’t have to think about what other men might have done with Lan Zhan, not when Lan Zhan wanted him enough to share his space, not when Lan Zhan looked at him the way he did, not when Wei Ying’s heart thumped feather-light and fluttering in his chest and Lan Zhan showed him how to love without saying the words, without needing to say the words because it was written in the way Lan Zhan’s touch blazed fire against his heated skin and was heard in the inarticulate breaths taken by Lan Zhan’s unsteady lungs whenever he moved inside of Wei Ying until they were both gasping and still not ready to let go, pressing them as close as two people could possibly get.

“How can you still be thinking?” Lan Zhan asked, disbelieving, between one brutal thrust and the next.

His thoughts skittered and shattered at Lan Zhan’s words. He hadn’t even really realized. “I just like Lan Zhan so much,” he said, meaning it in the most aggravating way possible because that was what it boiled down to. “How can I not think about him?”

Lan Zhan, as was his right, took it as a challenge, scraped his teeth roughly along Wei Ying’s throat, sucked sharp, blooming bruises into his clavicle, if he actually succeeded in driving every thought from Wei Ying’s mind with each thrust of that perfect dick of his, and then finally succumbed to rutting away mindlessly until he came and then made Wei Ying come, then Wei Ying was perfectly okay with it.

More than okay.

Wow, very okay.

If Wei Ying kept Lan Zhan there, wrapped trembling legs around the back of Lan Zhan’s thighs, managed to ask him to stay like this, braced against Wei Ying’s chest while he remained inside of him—who cared if Wei Ying was still bound up as long as he could still whisper all sorts of things into Lan Zhan’s sweaty hair—that was an act of love, too.

“Move in with me,” Lan Zhan said later after he’d finally convinced Wei Ying to let him clean them up while he lingered on busily rubbing circulation back into Wei Ying’s arms, palms gentle and warm against Wei Ying’s skin. “I know how important Burial Mounds is to you, but…”

Ah, so perhaps this was why Lan Zhan was really nervous. Smiling, Wei Ying waited for Lan Zhan to finish.

“Maybe it’s too soon, but I want to come home and see you here or know you’ll come back here when you’re done for the night without a message on my phone. I’d like to wake up and know I can make breakfast for you if you want me to. If you don’t want to move here, I’d—”

Wei Ying laughed lightly as he crowded Lan Zhan against the bed. What a foolish man. “You’d what, Lan Zhan? Bunk in with a bunch of rambunctious artists who keep awful hours in a room for which ‘chaotic’ is too kind a term?”

Lan Zhan set his jaw. “If I had to.”

“Ha. Then you’d have to make breakfast for a whole platoon of people. They’d never let you rest if they tasted your food. You’d be followed around constantly. They’d ask you for so much advice.” It would be the cutest thing ever, thinking of his baby artists following Lan Zhan around, but he couldn’t imagine Turpentine doing well there and that was important to Wei Ying, almost as important as Lan Zhan himself being comfortable and happy. “I’ve talked to Wen Qing about it already. We’ve started the process of getting the mortgage assumed in her name. Depending on how soon you want me to move in, I could probably sublet out my room and keep paying in to give them a bigger bubble of security. Mianmian is going to take my spot once her lease is up. Once she takes over, I’ll rent studio space somewhere else, easy.”

“You’ve… thought about it already? You planned for this?”

“Yes? Pretty much… immediately after we—? Well. Anyway. Is that such a surprise? I’m a greedy man, Lan Zhan, and I spend most of my time here already. I don’t want to leave anyone in the lurch, but I’m not that guy who shouts fuck you at every naysayer I come across anymore and then fucks off to start a collective just to piss everyone off. I haven’t been that guy for a long time and I want a home with you. I want to spoil Turpentine when you are looking and not just when you’re not. So, yeah. I definitely wanted to know if it was feasible.”

“I’ve always known when you’ve spoiled Turpentine.”

“Details, Lan Zhan. I’m trying to make a declaration here.”

“And what declaration is that?”

“I like you a lot, so much, unbelievable amounts of it.” He stretched his arms out wide and then swooned forward into Lan Zhan’s chest, wrapping his arms around Lan Zhan’s shoulders to squeeze him close. “I’ll tell you every day. I want to be here with you. I was only waiting to say something until we were ready to sign the papers in case something went wrong. Of course you had to manage beating me to the romantic admission, but—yes. I’ll move in with you.”

Lan Zhan was not a smiler, not even when he was happy, but the smile he offered Wei Ying was so wide and relieved that Wei Ying was sure his heart would never fully recover.

It was easier and harder to move out of Burial Mounds than Wei Ying expected. Easier because everyone was doing the moving for him? That was nice! And harder because… outside of all the time Wei Ying spent at Lan Zhan’s, this had been his home since school and—and he’d built it up from nothing and—

“I’m not abandoning you, right?” he asked, pulling Wen Qing into a hug on the tiny patch of grass that served as a lawn. He remembered ripping up the concrete himself, along with Wen Ning. It felt like so long ago.

It was easy to hold her close, stooping a little so he could properly drape himself over her, chin perched on her shoulder. It was warm for November, the sun beating down on the back of his neck, determined to prove itself even this late in the year. The cool, crisp breeze did little to assuage it. “You’re not just being nice and saying it’ll be fine, but really you’re over here cursing me for leaving?”

Wen Qing, generally not given to laughter much in the same way Lan Zhan wasn’t much given to laughter, actually managed a wet little chuckle. “You’re acting like we’ll never see you again.”

“Maybe you won’t. Maybe I’ll just spend all day in Lan Zhan’s bedroom and never come out again.”

“Too much information, Wei Ying.” Detaching him required a lot of effort—he didn’t want to let go—but she finally succeeded at putting him at arm’s length to survey him. “We’re okay. You’re not screwing us over.”

Mo Xuanyu, who was standing nearby, having told the others that he was ‘supervising,’ wringing his hands, looking a little glassy around the eyes, too, said, “Speak for yourself. I’ve had to listen to Li Wenfang and his friends all crying about their missed opportunities. They think because I know, somehow I’m their, like, weird agony aunt or something. They keep asking me for advice even though I just keep telling them to take comfort in one another’s arms or something. I don’t know.”

“Get better friends,” Wei Ying said, only half as joking as he wanted to be. Li Wenfang had caused him a lot of trouble—or Wei Ying had allowed Li Wenfang to influence him unduly which led to a lot of trouble, potato, potato—but it wasn’t like he knew it. Regardless, Wei Ying would happily put Li Wenfang and Lan Zhan’s little fan club as far behind him as he could even if he maybe owed them for being the impetus that brought him to this point. Still. Assholes as far as Wei Ying was concerned. “Lan Zhan’s not some trophy to be claimed.”

“Ah ha,” Mo Xuanyu said, taking a few steps toward them, shoving Wei Ying’s shoulder as he pointed at the car where Jiang Cheng and Lan Zhan were currently arguing over the best way to play tetris with Wei Ying’s haphazardly packed boxes. “I bet he wouldn’t mind if you were the one doing the claiming.”

Wei Ying flushed. “Don’t be crass. That’s my future husband you’re talking about.”

“I can’t decide if I’m disgusted or jealous,” Mo Xuanyu said. “Congratulations, you’ve got me stumped.” Then, before they could have another heartfelt exchange of words that they’d both deny later, Mo Xuanyu grabbed his hand and yanked him into a hug, quick and bracing. “Don’t be a stranger, okay?”

Choking back a totally manly and not at all inappropriate sob, Wei Ying said, “Now that I’m free of you? Yeah, right.”

Mo Xuanyu punched him again and let go, neither of them acknowledging their brush with real, genuine feelings.

“Li Wenfang did ask me to pass along a few words to you,” Mo Xuanyu said, awkward. “I, uh, these are his words by the way, but, and I quote, ‘He’s going to treat you really well. Make sure you know you deserve it.’”

“The fuck does that mean?”

“He had an answer for that, too. ‘Don’t fuck it up by overthinking it. You’re welcome.’”

“I really hate that guy, Mo Xuanyu. Like so much. You don’t even know.” But he couldn’t help but laugh either. God. A little late for that.

“He is kind of a know-it-all. Anyway, I think he is happy for you both. For whatever that’s worth to you.”

That was… actually sort of nice. Wei Ying pretended he didn’t hear it and clapped Mo Xuanyu on the shoulder instead.

After that, Wei Ying made his way around the rest of the crew, thanking them for all the hard work over the years. It got a little hairy again when he made his way around to Wen Ning, who wasn’t in the least mortified by tears and just let himself be misty-eyed at the thought of Wei Ying leaving instead of trying to hide it like everyone else was doing. “We’ll miss you, Wei Ying.”

He pulled Wen Ning into a hug, too, before he could do something ridiculous, like blubber all over him.

When he was finally ready, turning around to head toward the car, Lan Zhan and Jiang Cheng were already there, blocking the way. Well, Jiang Cheng was blocking the way, hands stuffed into his pockets. Lan Zhan was reaching for Wei Ying’s hand, a little tense, but nothing that seemed like it would result in any punches being thrown.

“You,” Jiang Cheng said. “And him. Dinner on Saturday. You got it?”

Wei Ying’s brow furrowed. “Jiang Cheng?”

“Don’t argue. Dinner on Saturday. Wen Qing and Qingyang will be there, too. Understand?”

God, they all really were trying to kill him. Swallowing, he wasn’t certain that his voice would hold out until he spoke. In a small, embarrassing voice, he answered, “Got it.”

Lan Zhan squeezed his hand in support.

“Okay, okay.” Wei Ying drew in a deep breath and smiled widely, felt a little bit better for the shape of the grin on his lips. “We’re gonna go now. Thank you for all the help. Don’t burn down Burial Mounds while I’m not looking, okay?”

There were laughs, a few groans, and nods from everyone there and before Wei Ying could be even more embarrassing, he waved and pulled Lan Zhan toward that stupid, beautiful Volvo.

“Wei Ying?” Lan Zhan asked as they sat inside, Wei Ying staring wistfully out the window. He wasn’t used to feeling so apart from these people he’d spent so much time with, but they were already growing distant in his mind.

There were upsides, gains to the losses. He turned and looked at Lan Zhan, who was calmly looking back at him, soft and warm, waiting for Wei Ying the way he’d apparently always waited for Wei Ying even when Wei Ying couldn’t see it.

There was really only one thing he could say to that.

“Let’s go home.”

Wei Ying could count the number of times he’d woken up before Lan Zhan on zero hands and Wei Ying intended to take advantage of it, slipping from beneath the blankets as quietly as he could, suppressing a charmed laugh as he forced the windows to brighten slightly, intending to make use of that perfect morning light that wanted so desperately to come through those pretty floor-to-ceiling windows of Lan Zhan’s.

Each adjustment he made to the sensor only succeeded in exposing more and more of Lan Zhan’s beauty to Wei Ying until he found the perfect amount of light that he wanted. It wasn’t that he’d never seen Lan Zhan asleep; he had, quite a few times by now, but never when he was sleep tousled, close to waking but not quite there yet.

He didn’t even shift from the position he took on his back, though his head was turned slightly to the side of the bed Wei Ying favored.

Gathering his sketchbook and pencil, he returned to the bed, climbing back on with careful, ginger-light motions. Lan Zhan had one of those beds that barely moved, all fancy memory foam that was designed not to disturb a glass of wine even when you started jumping on the mattress, and it worked to his advantage now as he sat, cross legged, at the edge of the bed.

Lan Zhan was really too beautiful. He’d have to wear Lan Zhan out more often. Though he ached so pleasantly, he wasn’t tired in the slightest and this was worth it anyway.

He was still scratching away with a pencil when Lan Zhan’s brow finally furrowed, nose scrunching, and that was why this was so great. Wei Ying never would have known Lan Zhan did that if this hadn’t happened; his voice was sleep rough when he called Wei Ying’s name. That, he wouldn’t have known if he hadn’t woken up first. He dragged his hand across his eyes and pouted and asked, “What time is it,” so belligerently that Wei Ying broke out in laughter as he answered, “Too late for dear Hanguang-jun. The day is ruined. It’s already seven!”

“What do you want for breakfast? Why are you so happy?” he asked, pulling himself smoothly upright, groaning, one hand working through his hair, and there was only one answer to that: “The romance is dead,” followed immediately by, “Well, Lan Zhan, you, of course,” as he tossed aside the sketchbook and threw the pencil at the bed stand, from which it rolled off and clattered to the floor.

He tackled Lan Zhan back to the bed and straddled his hips, bearing down on him, already half-hard and open-mouthed. His gaze was warm and dragged up from Wei Ying’s navel to his eyes. As he gripped Wei Ying’s waist, he, for lack of a better word, rolled his torso and hips, sending Wei Ying jolting upright slightly and that was signal enough for Wei Ying to lean down and press a kiss to Lan Zhan’s lips.

They were really, really late eating breakfast, but as far as Wei Ying was concerned, it was worth it and best of all, Lan Zhan didn’t have any complaints either.

Well, maybe he’d have one complaint, because Wei Ying had a sudden thought and couldn’t help but grin. “Hey, Lan Zhan?” he asked, pouring more tea for him. “If you had a spreadsheet…”

Lan Zhan’s eyebrow climbed his forehead. “A spreadsheet? Why do I have a spreadsheet?”

“If you had a spreadsheet,” Wei Ying said, apparently reaching his limit on shamelessness, “where would you put me?”

Lan Zhan mouthed the word spreadsheet, brow now furrowing as he tried to work out Wei Ying’s thought process. It would likely be difficult for him to parse because, ha, Wei Ying’s thought processes were nonexistent, but it was cute to watch him try to work it out. Long-suffering, Lan Zhan said, “What sort of spreadsheet?”

Wei Ying wasn’t above brushing his slippered foot up Lan Zhan’s pajama-clad calf. “A sexy spreadsheet.”

Stilling, Lan Zhan widened his eyes and then threw a furtive glance at the floor. “Why… are you asking this?”

Wei Ying blinked, cogs rotating in the back of his mind. Oh. Oh shit. No fucking way. “Lan Zhan!” He nearly jumped to his feet in excitement. Whenever he thought he knew everything about Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan went and surprised him again. “Lan Zhan, no fucking way!”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan said, strangled. “It’s not what you think.” And oh, his ears were so red. So, so red. Wei Ying bet they were hot to the touch. He wanted to touch them and pinch his cheeks. “Where did you even hear—?” He shook his head and sighed in disgust. “There’s no sex spreadsheet.”

“But there’s something?”

“No.” Then, quiet, as though he was confessing ahead of being led to the gallows: “Back in school I used a spreadsheet to track my productivity. Number of pages read or written, hours spent studying, that sort of thing.”

Wei Ying, delighted, spoke with soft reverence. “Oh, my god, Lan Zhan. You’re such a nerd.”

“Shut up.” Oh, oh, that flush was spreading to his neck now. Waspish, he narrowed his eyes, and that only made Wei Ying crow louder. “After you ruined my life,” Lan Zhan said, pissy and defensive and wonderful, “by being you, I noticed a downward trend in the amount of work I was accomplishing.”

“I ruined your life,” Wei Ying whispered. “I made you trend downward. That’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me. Lan Zhan, I take it back. The romance never died.”

Though Lan Zhan glared at him, Wei Ying could tell he wasn’t truly angry and if he didn’t want to tell Wei Ying, he wouldn’t have. “I… noticed that after I’d—” Though his gesture was vague, it still managed to get Wei Ying hot under the collar. There was no need for him to explain what he meant. It was obvious. “I would notice especially on Tuesdays and Fridays, my numbers would be closer to normal.”

Wait. Why would…

“You used to jack off to a schedule? Lan Zhan, I don’t know if I can love you more than I do right at this moment. My heart is weak.”

“You used to drag me to that tea shop on Mondays and Thursdays that last semester before you dropped, remember?” he answered with dry despair. “Connect the dots.”

It was a good thing Wei Ying was sitting down and had a table between him and Lan Zhan because he wasn’t sure how much longer Lan Zhan was going to be safe from whatever devious retribution he came up with. Something really very naughty. “You developed a jack off schedule for me?”

Gritting his teeth, Lan Zhan nodded, but where Wei Ying was sometimes a coward, Lan Zhan sometimes chose to be braver. “Once I believed we could never…” And here, again, he didn’t have to explain and Wei Ying was glad when he glossed over it. “The physical release helped. I documented it because… because otherwise it felt as though…” He made a frustrated sound. “I needed it to mean something, even if it was just that I could concentrate more in class or at work. I stopped updating it years ago when I settled into… the Wednesday routine. I knew I couldn’t be with you, but I knew also that I couldn’t commit emotionally to anyone else. That was the best idea I could come up with to deal with the physical aspect based on the evidence I had. I’m not even sure who might have guessed what it was. I kept it coded. It wasn’t even a dedicated spreadsheet, just a few notes on the one I kept for productivity.” Looking frankly at Wei Ying, he added, “If there was one, you should already be able to guess where you’d end up on it.”

So he’d been right in a way and also more wrong than he ever expected was possible. He almost regretted asking, except that it would have come up eventually. Might as well be now. Except for how it made Wei Ying… so damned sad for Lan Zhan.

“Did Li Wenfang tell you there was a sex spreadsheet, too?” he asked, only a little dismayed, like even this couldn’t faze him really. At the end of the day, what did it really matter?

Wei Ying grimaced. “I didn’t believe him for what that’s worth. That’s why I never bothered to ask. I was just teasing. A pseudo-sex spreadsheet. Wow.”

“Are you disappointed?”

Wei Ying smiled softly, a little melancholy, unable to hold himself back any longer, feeling deeply for the Lan Zhan he’d so troubled in the past. He got up and rounded the table, squeezing himself between it and Lan Zhan as he sat on Lan Zhan’s lap and hugged him. The edge of the table might have dug uncomfortably into his back, but that was okay. “Did you—it wasn’t all so clinical for you, was it?” The idea that Lan Zhan did all of this under the guise of increased productivity, that he believed it that impossible for Wei Ying to return his feelings and he was using stop-gap measures to keep going? Wei Ying never would have wanted that for him, even if he never felt the same way. “You had a good time?”

Despite the thin tendril of jealousy he quickly squashed, he wanted very much for Lan Zhan to have had a good time.

“It wasn’t bad,” Lan Zhan hedged. “A lot of the time, it was good. Sometimes, it was mediocre. A few times it seemed like something remarkable. Not so different as it is for many people, I think. I learned a lot about myself doing it. Don’t worry about me, Wei Ying. I’m fine. It was fine. This is better by far, but given how terrible we were at telling each other how we felt, I can’t look back on it with regret when I have no way of knowing if we would have gotten together otherwise.”

Wei Ying supposed he would have to accept this even if he still wished he’d pulled his head out of his own ass a lot sooner. “Lan Zhan, let’s go back to bed,” he said, wanting that closeness with Lan Zhan for as long as he could have it. He would give back as much of that time to Lan Zhan as he could. “I want to show you how I feel about you.”

Lan Zhan drew in a shuddering breath and nodded. To prove a point, maybe to Wei Ying, maybe to himself, he said, “You’re ridiculous.”

“I am,” Wei Ying agreed, clamoring to his feet to drag Lan Zhan back. “And I intend to show you just how ridiculous I can be.”

These days, it wasn’t so nerve-wracking to climb into bed with Lan Zhan, not quite so intimidating. When Lan Zhan moved to take the lead, intending, no doubt, to show Wei Ying how he felt, he stopped Lan Zhan with a hand.

Wei Ying knew how Lan Zhan felt. He gloried in how Lan Zhan felt beneath him. It was so vast and comforting that Wei Ying could lose himself in it. “Not this time,” Wei Ying said, pressing Lan Zhan into the bed. By now he also had a good idea about how to please Lan Zhan, too. “Let me.”

Every kiss he pressed into Lan Zhan’s skin, every touch of his fingers, was gentle, imbued with the thought that he was truly the luckiest man on the planet, that he loved Lan Zhan so much and sometimes he didn’t know how to contain it within himself, his body too small for such big feelings. “Lan Zhan, I’m in love with you,” he said finally, as Lan Zhan shuddered inside of him, fingers pressed tight into Wei Ying’s hips as Wei Ying worked slow circles on his lap, his own hands lacing together with Lan Zhan’s. “I love you so much.”

The words were so easy to say; he didn’t know how he spent so long struggling with them.

He kept the pace slow, drew it out until even Lan Zhan couldn’t keep the noise locked away any longer. It was heady, this feeling, so lovely and exquisitely sharp that Wei Ying was certain he would cut himself on the edge of it and bleed all that love he felt into Lan Zhan.

When they were both spent, Wei Ying wandered to the bathroom on legs made of rubber and determination, cursing that he hadn’t thought of grabbing a towel sooner as he wet one corner with warm water before ringing it out, brought it back and wiped Lan Zhan and then himself clean; he curled against Lan Zhan’s back, hands folded over Lan Zhan’s abdomen, breathing when Lan Zhan breathed.

Lan Zhan didn’t complain that it was almost noon and they should get up.

Wei Ying himself only got up again when he heard Turpentine scratching at the door to be let in.

“This is embarrassing,” Wei Ying said, staring at the wall of—of schlock staring back at him, so saccharine as to be unbelievable, and Wei Ying couldn’t really believe anyone let him do this. He’d never participated in a show that was this… sentimental. It was abhorrent. Beyond the pale. “Lan Zhan, are you embarrassed to be seen with me?”

“No,” Lan Zhan said. And true to his word, he was holding tight to Wei Ying’s hand in absolute defiance of any sense of concern for what he was witnessing.

“Good,” Wei Ying said, cheerful to counteract the nerves threatening to incinerate him in the middle of Hanshi’s elegant floors. “Because there’s absolutely nothing at all embarrassing about this—this, uh…”

“Sentimentality?” Lan Zhan offered, droll.

Wei Ying grimaced. “You don’t have to sound so smug. It’s you up there, you know. You’re stuck right there with me. Immortalized forever in—”

“It’s a lovely painting, Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan reasoned, not a hint of shame in his words or bearing, even though he was staring at himself on the wall and most people would be a little bit nervous or awkward about it. Given how often Lan Zhan had told him no in the past, he’d thought it was shyness that held him back, but maybe it was something else. Regardless, he was glad at least one person was happy. Considering he’d finally consented to using Lan Zhan’s mother’s brush and ink sticks, the quality of which was so good that it still produced the most gorgeous ink Wei Ying had ever seen, Lan Zhan was that one person who mattered in this. “They’re all lovely.”

The others, at least, weren’t quite so emotionally compromising, but it felt equally silly to have images of Turpentine, still lifes taken from around Lan Zhan’s apartment, even landscapes of the view from Lan Zhan’s balcony all lined up for anyone to see, all done in ink.

It was, however, what Wei Ying had wanted to do, felt it was necessary to do. He didn’t like to assign magical thinking to the work he did, but it was almost like the brushes wouldn’t cooperate with anything else he tried to create with them. And Lan Zhan had actually seemed so pleased once he’d done the first painting, Turpentine of course, intended to be practice only, that he couldn’t stop himself until there were an additional eleven images giving the game of his life up in its entirety.

Ugh. People this in love with someone shouldn’t be let out of the house.

“Why did you let me do this?” Wei Ying asked in a harsh, low whisper. “People are going to know about me.”

Lan Zhan’s mouth twitched. “Is that such a bad thing?”

“It is when you’re dragged into it with me!” He clutched Lan Zhan’s arm. “They’re going to know I like you.”

Lan Zhan leveled a look his way, fond and exasperated at the same time. “Is that such a bad thing?”

“No?” Wei Ying frowned and thought about it. Then, Lan Zhan actually smiled at him, just a small one, but a smile nonetheless and slipped his hand into the back pocket of Wei Ying’s jeans, guiding him away from the paintings over to the admittedly rather nice spread of champagne, flutes sparkling under the lights, each one calling to Wei Ying like a siren offering to put an end to his embarrassment. “But there’s knowing I like you and then there’s this.”

“I would prefer everyone know exactly where we stand. This rather handily does the talking for us.”

“Oh, my god. You did this on purpose so I’d look like the sap. I should have known. Lan Zhan, you told me once that you didn’t want to see you on your walls,” Wei Ying pointed out, not to score a point or anything like that, how petty, but only because he wanted to understand. “Now you’ve let me put you up on public ones.”

“Mn. And why not?”

“Why not? What do you mean why not?”

“I don’t have to be afraid to see myself how you see me,” was what he said, handing a flute of champagne to Wei Ying as though it was nothing to say such a thing. “So: why not?”

“You were afraid?”

“Wei Ying, it’s in the past. Does it matter now how I felt when I didn’t know better? I was clearly wrong.” At Wei Ying’s look, he sighed. “I wasn’t ready for confirmation that you didn’t feel the same for me. I knew letting you draw or paint me would tell me everything I didn’t want to confront.”

Every time Wei Ying thought he couldn’t ache more for Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan had to go and up the ante on him. Swallowing down the bittersweet surge of his affection, he said, “Lan Zhan. I’ll draw you every day from now on. Then you won’t ever have to guess.”

“I don’t have to guess now.”

He looked at Lan Zhan through lowered lashes, sly. “So Lan Zhan doesn’t want me to draw him?”

“I want what you want,” Lan Zhan said. Though Wei Ying had come to hate those words for a time, he was starting to like them again now that they were balanced against Lan Zhan’s willingness to take, too; he especially liked them when he could use them to bully Lan Zhan a bit, but only in the most affectionate way, of course.

“What if… I want to duck out early?”

“Then I will let my brother know.”

“What if,” Wei Ying held his hand up to Lan Zhan’s ear and whispered until Lan Zhan’s ear warmed beneath his lips at his suggestion. Whatever drawings resulted from it, they would not wind up on a gallery wall, but only if Lan Zhan said yes.

“I’m going to let my brother know,” Lan Zhan decided as Wei Ying laughed and swallowed the last of the champagne Lan Zhan had given to him.

In all of his life, he never would have imagined having this: Lan Zhan splayed before him on his bed, naked. Well, no. He could imagine that perfectly well as it had now happened many, many times, but he couldn’t have guessed that he might have this, too. Lan Zhan’s body right where he wanted it, moved in the way he wanted it moved when he carefully adjusted his pose, each touch, each glance, each stroke of his pencil against paper sending a frisson of excitement through him, watching Lan Zhan as it did the same to him, his skin flushing as Wei Ying worked, his muscles trembling minutely with each pose until Wei Ying finally had mercy and guided him into a new position.

By the time they were done, Wei Ying had three pages worth of the classiest erotic imagery on the planet, a sore back, and a definite need to do that again early and often. Lan Zhan was lazing against the wall like a proper reprobate, ostensibly working although he was only wearing his underwear and had the laptop rather precariously balanced on one thigh as he kept poking diligently through his emails. Wei Ying’s chin was perched on Lan Zhan’s stomach, arms awkwardly mashed beneath his own chest to hold him up enough to even do that, which wasn’t terribly conductive for Lan Zhan’s work if the way he was crooking his arm awkwardly to accommodate Wei Ying was any indication.

“There’s something missing,” Wei Ying said as the door nudged itself open and Turpentine bounced into the room. She stopped just inside the doorway, going stock still, eyeing them both. She wasn’t really used to the door being open anymore.

“What’s missing?” Lan Zhan asked, distractedly.

“On your wall. It’s missing something.”

“No, it isn’t,” Lan Zhan replied, hardly giving Wei Ying’s words a second thought. He did glance briefly at the wall in question and then shook his head in confirmation. “No.”

Wei Ying huffed. His gaze fell to the doorway, where Turpentine was still sitting, watching them. “You’re not the only one who knows something about art.”

“Maybe not, but I know that wall isn’t missing anything.”

“Come on, Turpentine,” he said, patting the end of the bed, pleased when she gathered every bit of her rabbit strength to launch herself up before nosing at Lan Zhan’s side, snuffling lightly. “You’ll tell me what’s wrong with the wall, won’t you?”

She turned herself a few times before curling under Lan Zhan’s arm, making it entirely impossible for him to continue working without the risk of squishing her. With a long-suffering sigh, he closed the laptop and pushed it off of his thigh until it was next to Wei Ying’s elbow, a precarious place for it to end up all things considered. Shoving it further away for him, he nestled closer to Lan Zhan, eyes still mostly focused on the wall. “It’s just not very fun, is it?”

“Wei Ying.”

“It’s a little too traditional, right?”

“Wei Ying.” He sighed again and turned Wei Ying’s face up. “I don’t say this ever, so when I say this now, please listen to me.”

“O…kay. I’m listening.”

“You were right.” He swallowed. “About the wall and what it should be and what it means. It’s perfect just the way it is.”

This was verging into territory that Wei Ying wasn’t quite equipped to deal with. “Ah, Lan Zhan. You’re such a sap. We match now.”

“If that’s what you want to believe.”

“I do. I was a sap earlier. Now it’s you. Matching saps.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t understand at the time,” he continued, ignoring Wei Ying, because he was a sap, certifiably so, and apparently he had things to say that Wei Ying’s heart clamored to hear, because he was waiting on tenterhooks for Lan Zhan to continue speaking. “I see what you were trying to tell me when you painted it. I wouldn’t have you change it if I have any say in it.”

Wei Ying squirmed in embarrassment, rubbing his cheek against Lan Zhan’s ribs before blowing a raspberry against his side, letting his lips linger until it became a kiss instead. Though Lan Zhan twitched, he allowed it to happen, settling his hand in Wei Ying’s hair, feathering through the strands. “Lan Zhan!”

He looked at it again and realized it truly wasn’t about him. If Lan Zhan was happy, then he was happy.

It didn’t stop him from figuring out what was missing and maybe, maybe making one small alteration in the corner later, so small as to be unnoticeable, when Lan Zhan finally got up to take a shower.

With a gold ink marker he scrounged from his bag where he’d haphazardly dumped it earlier, he wrote: To Lan Zhan with love, Wei Ying. Next to it, he scribbled a little drawing of Turpentine because it was fun and because he could and when Lan Zhan noticed, he was sure to smile at it fondly.

“Now it’s perfect,” he whispered, a delighted grin settling on his mouth as he looked at it, chin perched on his fist as he lay on the ground before it. Though he considered dating it, too, after a moment, he discarded the thought.

The way he felt for Lan Zhan would never be a finished, polished art object and so, in a way, this mural couldn’t become one either, even if only in spirit since it looked very, very complete on its onw. A timestamp was unnecessary; it would only falsely bind it to a specific time and place, when it existed for Wei Ying as something else entirely. It would not convey what Wei Ying wanted to convey if he were to assign one perfect moment of completeness to it.

He knew that Lan Zhan would understand.

Clamoring to his feet, he capped the pen and patted the wall affectionately. “Thank you,” he told it, because it was important and because he wanted to and because he could.

Thank you for bringing us together.

Thank you for speaking for me when I couldn’t.

Thank you, he was still thinking later—when Lan Zhan had returned, scrubbed clean and smelling of his sandalwood body wash and had pulled Wei Ying back into his arms—perhaps a bit extravagant, but Wei Ying was feeling extravagant tonight, and grateful besides, thank you for persevering despite us.